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TALES 



OF 



HUMOUR AND ROMANCE 



SELECTED FEOM 



POPULAR GERMAN WRITERS. 



TBANSLATED BY 



RICHARD HOLCRAFT, B. A. 



NEW YORK : 

V 

o)D BY C. S. FRANCIS ; WHITE, GALLAHER & WHITE ; 
COLLINS & CO. ; COLLINS & HANNAY ; D. FELT ; O. A, 
ROORBACH ; N, B. HOLMES ; W. B. GILLBY ; G. <fe C. & 
H. CARVILL ; T. & J. SWORDS ; E. BLISS ; J. LEAVITT. 

PHILADELPHIA J. GRIGG ; TOWAR & HOGAN. BOSTON 

-—RICHARDSON & LORD. — BALTIMORE— W. & J. NEAL, 

1829. 



< v ■■ 



^ 






J. SEYMOUR, ) 

D. FANSHAW, f ro . , , B , r . - .. ^ . 

CLAYTON & VAN NORDEN, > Printers and Publishers for the Trade 
H. C. SLEIGHT, > 

Orders addressed to E. B- CLAYTON, New -York. 




l; M<>i, CROFT 



A few of the Critical Opinions of this Work. 



Mr. Holcraft has acquitted himself very well as a trans- 
lator from Hoffman. — Blackwood's Magazine. 

The mine of German literature, so far from being 
wrought out, has not been much more than partially open- 
ed by English ingenuity and industry. The present pro- 
ductive selection, shows that both novel and valuable ma- 
terials lie upon the surface, to reward the competent and 
enterprizing labourer. The translations seem to be faith- 
fully made, and to preserve the characteristics of the ori- 
ginals. — Literary Gazette. 

An interesting little specimen of German literature has 
lately made its appearance, which to the amateurs of Tales 
especially, will be found a decided bonne houche. It is a 
selection made by Mr. Holcraft from the most popular no- 
velists of a country peculiarly sacred to the genius of ro- 
mance, and contains a variety of amusing narratives, as 
different in their composition as pleasing in their general 
effect. — Globe and Traveller. 

Richard Holcraft has executed his task extremely well. 
The Tales are good ; the translation, which has evidently 
been a labour of love, is free and spirited, and bears inter- 
nal marks of correctness, which may satisfy those who 
never saw the original. — Scotsman. 



r 



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 



He who has just risen from a bed of sickness and is 
tasting the first moments of returning health, in general 
possesses a peculiar skill in constructing those baseless 
edifices which the French call chateaux en Espagne* The 
reader who has ever been an invalid himself, will feel the 
truth of this observation. For my own part, I have long 
been practically familiar with the fact, and have been in 
the habit of enjoying the pleasure arising from this source, 
as a compensation provided by Nature for one of the 
iC worst ills that flesh is heir to." 

On a late occasion while recovering from a tedious ill- 
ness, I thought one evening, I felt the approaching inspi- 
ration of Hygeia, and threw myself into my easy chair to 
indulge in a few architectural vagaries. But alas ! the 
fabric I had commenced was not destined to reach the 
skies, for scarcely had it attained the Lilliputian dimen- 
sions of St. Peter's Church, when the whole was dashed 
to the ground by the entrance of my old friend and col- 
lege chum, Tom Stapleton, of the Inner Temple. 

"Well Dick," said he, as he approached my chair, " still 
in the land of the living — no hopes for your younger bro- 
ther." 

" Not on the present occasion," said I, rising as if to 
show my recovered strength. 

As I stood before him 

M Heu quantum mutatus ab illo 
Hectore 1" 

1 observed his eye glance over my wasted limbs, and 
jtRought it glistened with a tear, as it surveyed the 

fci Lean and slippered pantaloon." 
1* 



VI PREFACE. 

into which a few weeks' sickness had transformed the once 
athletic form of his quondam schoolfellow. 

"Courage!" said he, looking up, " the danger is now 
past, — you have got a new lease of life, and God grant it 
be a long one. But what are those papers?" pointing to 
a number of Manuscripts which lay scattered over the 
table, " always scribbling, Dick, — posthumous fame no 
doubt, — a drop of ink, you know, falling upon a thought, 
makes one immortal." 

" Well, what can an invalid do better ? I verily believe 
I owe more to these papers for my restoration to health, 
than to all Dr. B.'s prescriptions, or even my Aunt Mar- 
gery's cordials. — They are some translations I have been 
making from your favourite language, the German." 

" Translations from the German ! Bless me, all the 
world now-a-days draws upon this intellectual bank, but 
though the run has been very great, there is yet no lack 
of ore and of sterling quality too, to meet the demands of 
all who are qualified to draw upon it. — Kites, I suppose, 
works of imagination." 

" To be serious, they are prose works of fiction, by souk 
of their most approved authors." 

" Oh then you mean to publish them." 

" Why to be sure, authors are like mothers, they are 
not the first to see the faults of their own offspring ; but 
methinks the tales are as good as many that have been 
given to the w T orld, and although, as you know, they have 
been translated by one w T ho has lived more in the bustle of 
the world, than in the stillness of the closet, I hope that, 
besides being correct transcripts, they are not altogether 
destitute of the spirit of the originals. The object I have 
in view if I publish them, will be to give some notion of 
(he style of the novel writers of Germany." 

" But my dear Dick," taking up one or two of the pa- 
pers, and turning over the pages of them, " you can never 
expect to give an idea of a novel-writer by such short spe- 
cimens as these." 

" In my opinion, Tom, it requires no lengthy narrative 
jo give an idea of a peculiar and individual style, although 
i must confess that to give a correct notion of the strength, 
i r ariety, and power of an author's intellect and imagina 



PREFACE, VII 



site ; and while I presume that the style of these various 
writers would be illustrated by the publication of these 
manuscripts, I could never once imagine that the varied 
powers of their mind and their fancy were at all perfectly 
developed. But come sit down and let me have your 
opinion of them," 

My friend drew in a chair, took up the largest of the 
manuscripts, and found it to be Madame de Scuderi, by E» 
T. Hoffman. 

"What do you think of this author?" said I. 

" Oh, at present, Hoffman is all the rage in Germany 5 - 
and this tale is no bad specimen of the writers style, for 
in it may be traced an imitation of our historical Novel, a 
species of composition which the works of the Great Un- 
known have brought into vogue as much in Germany as in 
England. I was in Berlin when this tale was published 
—the character of Rene Cardillac, like other things, 
was a ' day's wonder, 5 — the Critics, however, thought 
that if the Author had kept more to the history of the 
period, it would have been better— too much of the apo« 
thecary of Mantua." 

" What, do you think c lepoudre de Succession* was all. 
a fable,— read Dr. Paris' work on Medical Jurisprudence? 
and you will find details that are as curious, and apparent* 
ly as imaginative as those of Hoffman." 

" But you have been adding here— the German edition 
I read had neither chapters nor mottos." 

" Est mobus in rebus.— Do you imagine a Novel would 
be read without those ornaments now-a-days. Literary 
caterers for the public must bend at the shrine of fashion 
as well as others, and an Author must study the form of 
a Novel, as a tailor the cut of a coat. There is as much 
mode in Colburn's title pages, as is in Stulze's dinner suits I 
# —But after all, don't you think these breathing posts an 
improvement ?" 

" Perhaps they are, ---but translations ought to be perfect 
transcripts." 

" You forget then what Horace says, which by the way. 
is as true with respect to a translation as an original com- 
position. Nee desilies imitator in ewtera.—But no matter. 



Vill PitEPACE. 

in every thing else you will find it to be so—but here i* 
one by Schiller in puris naturalibus." 

" Frederick Schiller— the Shakspeare of Germany— a 
prose work of fiction by the Author of Wallenstein ? I 
do not recollect any." 

" Have you never read his Kleine Prossaische Schrifu 
en ?— there are not many tales amoijg them, but the few 
that are, sufficiently prove his high talent for this species 
of composition, and sure I am, had he lived in the Novel- 
writing days of the present period, he would have been 
an able and successful Romance writer, and the world, in- 
stead of being indebted to him for sublime dramatic cre- 
ations, would have been presented with spirited and gra- 
phic pictures of German manners and national feeling. 
I am sure you must have seen that" 

" Let me see," as he turned over the leaves of the 
Dishonoured Irreclaimable. " Oh yes, I have read this 
long ago, and methinks in an English garb too.— No bad 
argument, if I remember right, for the abrogation of the 
Game Laws. I wish our Country Squires would read 
it,— we should not have our prisons so crowded." 

" What ? Do you think there is a translation of that 
already— but no matter, I am sure mine is as correct 
though I have not seen the other, and a good tale is not 
the worse of being twice told. But here is a curiosity- 
two Tales, or whatever else you may call them, by Jean 
Paul Richter." 

"The Author whose works Madame de Stael considered 
as incapable of passing the boundaries of Germany 1 
This is perilous ground to tread." 

" I am aware that one cannot read two sentences of 
Richter without finding many faults, but surely he never 
could have acquired so much fame in his own country 
without some just title to it." 

" That is all very true, but may not his fame rest upon 
no better foundation than the sentiment of Lucretius, 

Quod adest praesto (nisi quid cognovimus ante 
Suavius) imprimis placet ? 

merely upon his singularity ? In my opinion his writings 
nve by far too sentimental— too imaginative, and too me= 



PREFACE. 1$ 

taphoncal, and his characters too simple and unsophisti- 
cated for the present state of English readers." 

" Sans doute. Notwithstanding, I have made the at- 
tempt, to put this eccentric writer into an English garb, 
and no easy task it was I assure you. I am satisfied how- 
ever that those who love tales merely for their story, ought 
to pass ovei* " the Death of an Angel, and the Moon," 
while those who are gifted with a little more imagination 
than their neighbours, will find in the succession of touch- 
ing episodes of this writer, more than enough to counter- 
balance the imperfections that fastidious critics might find 
in the style." 

" But good Heavens, this dedication to Phillipina will 
never do — folly and seriousness mingled together. — I 
would advise you to leave it out." 

" Well, then, I must at once abandon the idea of giv- 
ing a specimen of Jean Paul's style, for all his works 
are 

Mixtoque insania luctu. 

No, no, I am determined to give as perfect a transcript 
of Richter as I can. I shall show up his merits and deme- 
rits, and let the reader judge for himself." 

" If you meant to publish them as a literary curiosity, 
then T think you are right in being faithful, but probably 
for a work such as you propose, you should follow the 
example of Madame de Stael, who has translated a dream 
by this Author, agreeably to the taste of her fastidious 
countrymen. But what comes next ?" 

" Two tales by Langbein, celebrated in Germany for 
his humour, I believe, but an evident imitator, like many 
others, of old Boccacio." 

"Why that is dangerous ground to cull from — I hope 
you have avoided in your selection, the gay gallantry of 
his prototype— nothing of 

"Donne amabile e mariti ingannati: 1 ' 

that won't do,— recollect the Chief Justice's finding the 
other day." 

" I was careful about this, but in my fastidiousness I 



CONTENTS. 



</ 




PAGE 

\1ADAME DE SCUDERI, by E. T. Hoffman, 13 

THE DISHONOURED IRRECLAIMABLE, by 
Frederick^chiller, 106 

THE DEATH OF AN ANGEL, by Jean Paul 

RlCHTER, . . . . ^ . . . .133 

THE MOON, by Jean Paui/richter, . . 139 

THE BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION, by A. T. 
E. Langbein, ^. . .154 

THE BROKEN LEG, by A. T. E. Langbein, 159 

THE HAUNTED CASTLE, by Augustus" La 
Fontaine, 163 

WOLDEMAR, by Theodore Charles Korner, 19? 

THE HARP- by Theodore Charles Korner, . 211 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 



BY 



/ 
E. T. HOFFMANN 



: : It will have blood, they say blood will have blood, 
6tortes have been known to move and trees to speak, 
Augur* and understood relations, have 
By maggot pies, and choughs, and rooks brought forth 
The secret'st man of blood," 

Shakspwre* 



MADAME DE SCUDERL 



CHAPTER I. 

O mirk, mirk, is this midnight hour. 

And loud the tempests roar ; 
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, 

Lord Gregory ope thy door. 

Burns. 

In the Rue St. Honor e, till lately stood the small house 
wherein Magdalene Scuderi (celebrated for her beau- 
tiful verses) lived, under the patronage of Louis XIV. 
and Madame de Maintenon. 

About midnight, it might be in the autumn of the 
year 1680, there was heard a loud and violent knock- 
ing at the door of this house, which echoed through 
hall and passages. Baptiste, who in Madame Scude- 
ri J s small establishment acted as cook, lackey, and por- 
ter, had gone with the permission of his mistress to the 
country, to celebrate the marriage of his sister, and it 
so happened that Maria the chambermaid was the only 
person awake in the house. She heard the oft repeat- 
ed knockings at the door, and it immediately occurred 
to her, that Baptiste was absent, and that she remained 
the sole protector of herself and mistress. All the 
cuelties of thieves, robbers, and murderers, which 
were then so prevalent in Paris rushed to her remem- 
brance, and it appeared to her highly probable that it 
might be a party of assassins, aware of the unprotected 
and lonely situation of the house, that were now making 



16 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

the noise, and who if admitted would execute some base 
design upon her mistress. Maria therefore remained 
in her chamber trembling and in despair, at the same 
time vowing vengeance upoii Baptiste and his sister's 
marriage. 

The knocker meanwhile thundered louder and loud- 
er, while in the intervals Maria thought she heard a 
voice crying, " For the love of God, open the door ! 
open the door!" Trembling with anxiety she seized 
hold of a candlestick with a burning taper and ran out 
to the passage, — there she distinctly heard the voice of 
the disturber of her rest, exclaiming, " For heaven's 
sake open the door, — open the door !" In this strain 
thought the maid no robber speaks ; who knows but it 
may be some persecuted wretch who seeks the protec- 
tion of my mistress who is well known to delight in 
generous actions ; but I must be cautious ! 

Maria therefore opened a window and cried down, 
" Who knocks so loud at this unseasonable hour, awa- 
king every one from their sleep ?" while she gave to 
her deep voice as much of the manly character as was 
possible. 

In the glimmer of the moonbeams which then broke 
through the dark clouds, she beheld a tall figure, muf- 
fled in a light grey mantle, with a broad slouched hat 
drawn down so far as to shade eyes and countenance. 
She now called with a louder voice, so that it might be 
heard by the person below, " Baptiste, Claude, Pierre, 
rise and see what villain attempts to break into the 
house !" Immediately upon this a soft and lamentable 
voice answered from below, " Alas Maria, I know full 
well it is you, notwithstanding the vain attempt to dis- 
guise your voice, I know too, that Baptiste has gone 
to the country, and that you remain at home alone with 
your lady — only trust me, open the door and fear no- 
thing ; I must needs speak with your mistress this very 
moment." " Do you imagine," replied the chamber- 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 17 

maid, " that you could speak with my lady at this un- 
timely hour ; you must know she has long since gone 
to sleep, and that I would not waken her upon any ac- 
count from the first sweet slumber which her years so 
much require." 

" I know," replied the stranger, " I know that your 
lady has but this very moment laid aside the manuscript 
of her novel Clelia, at which she incessantly and anx- 
iously labours, and is just now writing down some ver- 
ses of it which she intends reading over to Madame de 
Maintenon to-morrow morning. I beseech you Maria ? 
have compassion on me and open the door ; — know 
that it is no smaller matter than to save a wretch from 
destruction ; know that honour, liberty, even the very 
life of a man depend upon my speaking to your lady 
this moment. Consider too, that your mistress would 
never forgive you, should she be informed that it was 
you, who with hard-hearted cruelty, drove from her 
door the wretched creature who came to implore her 
assistance." 

" But why do you claim the compassion of my mis- 
tress at this unusual hour ? come back early to-mor- 
row ;" this said Maria from above, while it was answer- 
ed from below, — " Think ye that Fate can pause and 
suit itself to time and hours, when like the thunderbolt 
it is about to strike, — if there be but one moment left 
for salvation dare it be postponed ? — Open the door 
and fear nothing from a miserable, helpless creature, 
forsaken by the whole world, pursued and hunted by 
a horrid destiny , — who wishes to implore your lady 
to save him from a threatened danger. 

Maria perceived that while the unknown uttered 
those words, he gave a deep groan as if fiom violent 
sorrow, and at the same time the tone of the voice re- 
sembled that of a youth deeply yet softly penetrating 
to the heart. She felt moved, and without farther con- 
sideration went for the kevs* 
v 2* 



18 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

The door was scarcely opened when the mantle- 
muffled figure rushed impetuously forward, and cried 
with a commanding and frantic voice, while stepping 
past the maid into the hall ; " Conduct me to your 
lady !" In the greatest consternation Maria raised the 
candlestick, and the rays of the taper fell upon the 
countenance of a youth that was deadly pale and fright- 
fully distorted, and the maid's terror was assuredly not 
diminished when the young man threw open his mantle, 
and her eye caught the bright handle of a stiletto 
peeping out of his bosom. The man darted at her 
his sparkling eyes and cried in a tone of greater agita- 
tion, " Conduct me to your lady — this instant conduct 
me to your lady!" 

Maria now imagined her worthy lady in the greatest 
danger ; the profound respect and ardent attachment 
which she had so long entertained for one who had 
treated her so kindly, burned now more strongly than 
ever in her affectionate bosom, and produced a courage 
which she herself never once dreamt of possessing. 
She hastily shut the door of the chamber which had 
been left open, placed herself before it, and said with 
energy and firmness, " your intemperate conduct in 
the house accords indeed badly with your lamentable 
wailings when on the outside, which as I now observe, 
have awakened at an evil hour my sympathy and com- 
passion ; — with my lady you neither shall nor can 
speak at present, and provided you have no evil design 
and fear not to meet the light of day, come to-morrow 
and tell her what you are now so anxious to relate : 
but at present I beg you will quit the house." 

The man gave a deep sigh, stared at the girl with 
a terrifying look, and seized hold of his stiletto. Ma- 
ria secretly recommended her soul to heaven, but re- 
mained steadfast, looked the man boldly in the face, 
and pressed herself closer to the door of the chamber 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 19 

through which he must needs go to reach the apart- 
ment of her mistress. 

" Let me go to your lady I tell you," reiterated the 
stranger, 

" Do what you please," rejoined Maria, " I shall 
not stir from this spot ; execute the foul deed which 
you have begun, and you will also find a shameful 
death on the Place de Greve } like your villanous 
companions." 

11 Ha," exclaimed the man, " you are right, Maria, 
y ou are right, I do appear armed like a robber and as- 
sassin, but my companions are not judged — are not 
executed !" While saying so, he drew from his bosom 
the dagger, and cast a withering look at the terrified 
woman. 

" Merciful God!" cried Maria, expecting the deadly 
thrust ; but at that moment the clash of arms and the 
trampling of horses were heard in the street. " The 
police, the police ! — help, help !" cried the maid. 

? l Unfeeling woman ! you wish my destruction— all is 
over, all is over — take, take— give this to your lady 
this very night ; to r morrow if you please." The man 
lowly murmuring, pulled the candlestick from the 
girl's grasp, extinguished the taper, and pressed a small 
casket into her hands. " For heaven's sake give this 
casket to your mistress," cried the man, and rushed 
from the house. 

Maria who had fallen to the ground, arose with dif- 
ficulty and groped back to her chamber, where quite 
exhausted and incapable of speech, she sank upon a 
chair ; but a few seconds had not elapsed before a 
noise with the keys which she had left in the street 
door attracted her attention ; the door was then lock- 
ed and at length light 'uncertain footsteps approached 
her room. Immoveably fixed and speechless from ter- 
ror, she awaited her frightful fate ; but how changed 
were her feelings when the door opened and at the 



20 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

first glance she recognized the faithful Baptiste, who, 
looking deadly pale and full of consternation, exclaim- 
ed on entering, " By all the saints, tell, Maria, what 
has happened ; oh my anxiety, my deadly anxiety. — I 
do not know what it was, but something impelled me, 
irresistibly, to leave the marriage feast yesterday eve- 
ning, and so I came to our street, and there I thought 
to myself Maria is easily awakened, she will hear 
though I but tap at the street door, and will admit me : 
but at that moment a strong patrole of horse and foot, 
armed to the teeth, seized me and would not permit 
me to proceed. Most fortunately Desgrais, the Lieu- 
tenant of Police, who knows me well, recognized me 
as -a lantern was held before my face, and said, 8 Aha! 
Baptiste, how are you in the street at this hour of the 
night ? You should remain in the house to protect it : 
it is dangerous to be found here at this hour, — we ex- 
pect to seize a good prize to-night.' You cannot con- 
ceive how these words struck me; and then when I 
step upon the threshold and encounter a disguised 
man, with a bare stiletto in his hand, who in his hurry to 
escape, whirles me round and round ; the house open, 
the keys in the lock, — tell me, tell me, what all this 
betokens ?" 

Maria in some measure relieved from her fearful. 
anxiety, related what had happened. Both went into 
the hall and found the candlestick on the ground 
where the stranger had flung it on quitting the house. 

"It is but too true," said Baptiste, " that our lady 
would have been robbed if not murdered ; the man 
knew, as you have said, that you were alone with our 
mistress, and knew likewise, that she was still awake 
over her works ; probably he was one of those exe- 
crable villains who introduce themselves into the inte- 
rior of houses, cunningly spying every thing that may 
serve for the furtherance of their diabolical purposes ; 
and the small casket, Maria, I think we ought to 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 21 

throw into the deepest part of the Seine. Who is our 
guarantee that this fellow may not in some way or 
other aim at the life of our respected mistress ; that 
she, opening the casket, may not fall down dead, as 
the old Marquis of Tournay did whilst merely opening 
a letter from an unknown hand?" 

The faithful servants after consulting for a long 
time, determined at last to relate every thing on the 
morrow to their mistress, and to present her also with 
the mysterious casket, which with due caution, might 
be safely opened. Both weighing every circumstance 
connected with the appearance of the suspicious stran- 
ger, thought that such a mystery upon which they 
dared not decide, on their own judgment, should, at 
least, be concealed from the world, and they deter- 
mined to leave it entirely to be discovered by their 
mistress. 



CHAPTER II. 

Put this in any liquid thing you will, 

And drink it off; and if you had the strength 

Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. 

Shakspe&re. 

There were good grounds for Baptiste's worst 
suspicions. At that very moment Paris was the thea- 
tre of the most diabolical outrages, for it was then 
that a fatal proficiency in art, gave to wickedness the 
easiest and safest means for accomplishing its purposes. 

Glaser, a German apothecary, the best chemist of 
his time, busied himself, as was usual with persons of 
his science, in the study of alchymy ; he entertained 
the foolish hope, with others like himself, of discovering 
the philosopher's stone. An Italian named Exili be- 
came his associate; however, with him the art of 



22 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

making gold was only a pretence. He wished merely 
to learn the method of preparing, mixing, and subli- 
ming stuffs of a poisonous nature, in which his master 
was vainly attempting to find his fancied fortune, and 
he succeeded at last in the preparation of that fine 
poison, which, without smell or taste, was productive 
of the most fatal consequences, and which would work 
either immediately or at a distant period ; a mixture 
which left not the slightest trace in the human body, 
and deceived the vigilant and scientific eye of the phy- 
sician, who never dreaming of poison, was ever wil- 
ling to ascribe the death which it occasioned, to some 
natural cause. 

However cautiously Exili went to work, still he in- 
curred the suspicion of selling deadly drugs, and he 
was consequently carried to the Bastile. In the same 
room, soon after his apprehension, was confined Cap- 
tain Godin de St. Croix. This person had for a 
long time lived in that intimate connection with the 
Marchioness de Brinvillier, which brought disgrace 
upon her family ; and while the Marquis remained to- 
tally insensible to the crimes of his lady, her father, 
Dreux d'Aubray, Civil Lieutenant of Paris, was 
forced to separate the guilty pair, by an order of 
arrest which was executed against the Captain. Pas- 
sionate and careless of character, a contemner of reli- 
gion, and a zealous pursuer of vice from his youth, 
vindictive and revengeful even to death, there could be 
nothing so welcome to this officer as the diabolical se- 
cret of Exili, which put into his hands the means of 
destroying all his enemies. He became the devoted 
scholar of this Italian, and equalled his master so soon, 
that on leaving the Bastile, he was fully qualified to 
prosecute his art alone. 

The Marchioness de Brinvillier was^a woman of 
little principle, and under the tuition of St. Croix, be- 
came fit for any thing. He persuaded her successive- 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 23 

ly to poison her father, with whom she lived, and that 
even while in the act of nursing him with pretended 
kindness ; afterwards her two brothers, and lastly her 
sister— the father from revenge, the others to inherit 
their riches. 

The history of several persons who have been guilty 
of poisoning their fellow-creatures, convinces us of 
this horrid truth, that when the mind is once habitua- 
ted to the idea, it becomes a powerful and irresistible 
passion. Without any ulterior object, but merely from 
a pleasure similar to that which the chemist enjoys 
when making experiments, have these miscreants poi- 
soned persons whose existence or destruction was per- 
fectly indifferent to them. The sudden death of 
several poor persons in the Hotel-Dieu, created after- 
wards suspicions that the bread which Brinvillier was 
accustomed to distribute weekly at that hospital, for 
the purpose of being regarded as a pattern of charity 
and piety, had been poisoned. It is however true, that 
the pigeon pies which she presented to some guests 
whom she had invited to her house, were mixed with a 
deadly drug. The Chevalier de Guet and several 
others were the victims of this diabolical entertain- 
ment. 

For a long time St. Croix, his companions La 
Chausee and Brinvillier, were successful in impene- 
trably veiling these nefarious and diabolical deeds from 
justice and the world ; but what can the cunning and 
artfulness of even the most unprincipled accomplish, 
if heaven decrees that such crimes shall be judged on 
earth ? 

The poison which St. Croix prepared was so fine, 
that if the powder (paiidre de succession as it was called 
by the Parisians,) lay open during preparation, a sin- 
gle inhalation of it was sufficient to cause instant death. 
St. Croix, therefore, during his operations made always 
use of a fine glass masque. But it happened one day, 



34 MADAME DE SCUDERL 

just as he had completed the preparation and was 
about to put it into a phial, that this masque fell off, 
and having thus inhaled some of the finer particles of 
the poison he fell down dead upon the spot. As he 
died without heirs, the Government officers soon hast- 
ened to his house to attach their seals to what was left. 
There they found locked up in a chest, not only the 
whole diabolical arsenal of poisonous utensils which 
had been used by the vile St. Croix, but also the letters 
of Brinvillier, which left no doubt of her infamous 
transactions. She instantly fled to a nunnery in Lut- 
tich, and hither Desgrais the Lieutenant of Police was 
despatched after her. Disguised as a priest he arrived 
and was admitted into the nunnery where she was con- 
cealed ; and having commenced a love affair with this 
abominable woman, he succeeded, without much per- 
suasion, in inducing her to make a secret rendezvous 
with him in a solitary garden out of the town. Scarce- 
ly was she arrived there, before she found herself sur- 
rounded by the assistants of Desgrais, who, changing 
his priestly appearance and passionate deportment into 
that of the Lieutenant of Police, forced her to step into 
the carriage which stood ready at the garden gate, and 
guarded by a party of the gens d'armerie proceeded 
directly to Paris. 

La Chausee sometime previous to this had been be- 
headed, and Brinvillier suffered the same death, her 
body after execution being burned, and its ashes dis- 
persed in the air. — But for a short period did the Pari- 
sians rejoice that this dreadful band of miscreants was 
out of the world, — a band which could direct, without 
detection, in the family circle, its murderous weapons 
against both friend and foe, for it was soon discovered 
that the art of the villanous St. Croix had found heirs. 
Like an invisible malicious spirit, death slipt into the 
closest circles, that acquaintanceship, love and friend- 
ship produce, and there seized surely and quickly the 



MADAME DE SCUDERX. 25 

unfortunate victim. He, whom we saw to-day in 
blooming health, tottered on the morrow sick and lan- 
guishing, and no art of the Physician could save him 
from the grave. Wealth — a profitable employment — 
a beautiful, perhaps a too youthful wife, were sure to 
attract the deadly draught. Frightful suspicion sever- 
ed the most sacred ties. The husband trembled before 
his wife — the father before his son — the sister before 
her brother. The meal remained untouched, — the 
wine which one friend offered to another stood un- 
tasted on the board, and where formerly gaiety and 
wit resounded, bewildered and anxious looks tried to 
discover the hidden poison. 

The fathers of families purchased the means of their 
subsistence far from their homes, and got it dressed in 
this and that dirty cook-shop, fearing treason even in 
their own houses. And yet frequently the greatest 
caution was without avail. 

The king, to put a stop to the evil which was daily 
becoming more and more alarming, appointed a parti- 
cular court, to which he committed entirely the disco- 
very and punishment of those secret crimes. This 
court was the well known Chambre Ardente which 
held its sittings under the Bastile, and over which La 
Regnie reigned as president. 

The labours of La Regnie, with whatever zeal they 
might have been conducted, would have remained how- 
ever much longer fruitless than they did, had it not 
been left to the artful Desgrais to discover the secret 
corner where these frightful crimes were concocted. 

In the Faubourg St. Germain there lived an old wo- 
man called La Voisin, whose profession it was to tell 
fortunes and to raise spirits, and who, with the assist- 
ance of her associates, Le Sage and Le Vigoreux, un- 
derstood the mode of astonishing and terrifying per- 
sons who were neither weak nor credulous. But she 
understood more than this. The disciple of Exili, she 

3 



26 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

manufactured like St. Croix the fine and tasteless poi- 
son, and assisted by its means profligate sons to an ear- 
lier inheritance, and unprincipled wives to younger 
husbands. Desgrais however discovered her secret 
operations, she confessed every thing, and the Chambre 
Ardente doomed her to the stake for crimes which she 
soon expiated upon the Place de Greve. A list of all 
tlie persons who had requested her assistance was found 
in her possession, and it so happened, that not only 
execution followed upon execution, but serious suspi- 
cion fell even upon individuals of the highest rank. 

It was currently believed that Cardinal Bonzy, by 
means of La Voisin, had found out a way to shorten 
the existence of all those persons whom he as Archbi- 
shop of Narbonne was obliged to pay pensions to. 
The Duchess de Bouillon and the Countess de Sois- 
sons, whose names were found in the list, were also ac- 
cused of being connected with the secret machinations 
of this diabolical woman ; and even Francis Henry de 
Montmorenci, Duke and Marshal of the kingdom, was 
not spared. The frightful Chambre Ardente prose- 
cuted him, and although he presented himself instantly 
at the prison of the Bastile to answer to the allegations 
preferred against him, the hatred of Louvois and La 
Regnie caused him to be shut up in a dungeon not ex- 
ceeding six feet in length. Months passed before 
those ministers of justice were forced to acknowledge 
that the crime of the Duke deserved no punishment, 
He had merely had the weakness to apply to Le Sage 
to have his horoscope cast. 

It is but too true that blind zeal misled the President 
La Regnie into violence and cruelty. The tribunal 
assumed the character of the Inquisition, — the slightest 
suspicion and the most trivial delinquency led to im- 
mediate and close imprisonment, and it but too often 
happened that the innocence of persons which had been 
condemned to death, was by the merest accident dis- 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 27 

covered in time to save them from the scaffold. Be- 
sides this La Regnie had such a disgusting countenance 
and such a deceitful look, that he brought upon himself 
the hatred even of those whom he was called to pro- 
tect or avenge. The Duchess de Bouillon being asked 
by him on her trial, whether she had seen the devil, re- 
plied, " Methinks I see him now !" 




CHAPTER IIL 

The trembling stars 
See crimes gigantic, stalking through the gloom 
With front erect, that hide their head by day., 
And making night still darker by their deeds. 
Lumb'ring in covert, till the shades descend, 
apine and Murder, link'd, now prowl for prey. 

Young* 

While the blood of the guilty and of the suspected 
flowed in streams upon the Place de Greve, a calamity 
of another kind appeared which created new conster- 
nation throughout the city, A band of thieves seemed 
to have determined on getting possession of all the 
valuable jewels in the capital. The rich ornament was 
scarcely purchased, before it disappeared, and by 
means too that were imperceptible. But it was still 
more dreadful, that every one who ventured to wear 
any costly gem in the evening upon the streets or in the 
dark passages that led to their houses were sure of be- 
ing robbed^ perhaps of being murdered. 

The story of those who escaped with their lives was ; 
ihat they were knocked down with a blow upon the 
head as if by a stroke of lightning, and on recovering 
from their stupefaction they always found themselves 
robbed of their jewels, and never at the spot where 
they had been attacked. The murdered, who were 
found almost every morning in the streets or in the en- 



28 MADAME DE SCUDERL 

trances to houses, had all a similar wound ; a dagger 
had been thrust through their heart, and according to 
the opinion of physicians this had been done so quickly 
and so surely that the murdered person must have fall- 
en to the ground without the power of crying for as- 
sistance, nay of even emitting the least sound. 

Who was there at the gay court of Louis XIV. en- 
tangled as they all were in the silken chains of some 
love intrigue, that did not slip out after sunset to the 
abode of his mistress carrying with him some rich pre- 
sent for her who at the moment monopolized all his 
affections? But just as if the thieves had been in 
league with foretelling spirits, it appeared they exactly 
lenew when such a thing would happen. Frequently 
the unfortunate victim of their rapacity never reached 
the house where he had hoped to enjoy an hour of love 
and gossip, — -often he fell at the threshold and even at 
the very chamber door of her whose eye longing to 
meet the smiling countenance of her fond admirer was 
often the first to be startled by the ghastly appearance 
of his bloody corpse. 

In vain did Argenson the minister of Police cause 
every one to be arrested who appeared to be in any 
way the object of suspicion ; in vain did La Regnie 
rage and endeavour to extort confessions; — in vain 
were watchmen and patroles augmented — no trace of 
the perpetrators could be discovered. The caution of 
arming oneself to the teeth and being accompanied by 
a servant with a lantern was perhaps the only security 
against attack, but still there were examples of per- 
sons, whose servants being terrified by a shower of 
stones, were murdered and robbed during the tempo- 
rary panic. 

It was remarkable that notwithstanding the inqui- 
ries and searches that were made at every place where 
jewelry was bought and sold, not the most minute por- 
tion of any of the trinkets that had been stolen was to 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 29 

be found, and thus even here where there was the 
strongest hopes of finding a clue that might lead to the 
detection of the robbers, not even a vestige was disco- 
vered that could clear up the horrid mystery. 

Desgrais foamed with rage that the thieves were thus 
so long able to elude his snares. The quarter of the 
city wherever he happened to be present always re- 
mained undisturbed, while in the other quarters of the 
capital where no one suspected any danger, the assassin 
was sure to seek out his wealthy victims. 

The Lieutenant of Police thought upon the snare 
of creating several Desgrais, so similar in walk, ap- 
pearance, speech, figure, and countenance, that even 
the gens d'armes themselves should not be able to dis- 
cover the real one. In the meantime he secretly 
watched, and at the risk of his own life did he follow 
alone even into the most obscure corners of the city, 
this or that person, who by his orders wore a rich and 
valuable ornament. The person was never attacked ;— 
of this measure also it appeared that the thieves were 
aware. The zealous but outwitted Lieutenant was in 
despair. 

One morning Desgrais came to La Regnie, pale, 
confused, and agitated. 

"What news? Have you discovered any trace ?■' 
exclaimed the President, in hasty agitation. 

" Ah, noble Sir !" began Desgrais, stammering with 
rage, " noble Sir, yesterday night the Marquis de la 
Fare was attacked in my presence and in the neigh- 
bourhood of the Louvre too." 

" Heaven and Earth !" shouted La Regnie for joy,— 
ki now we have them !" 

" Listen but a moment," interrupted the Lieutenant 
with a bitter smile, " listen but a moment to what has 
really happened. — I stood at the Louvre in watchful 
anxiety ; rage burned in my bosom against those who 
were thus making game of me ; a figure approached 
3* 



30 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

apparently under the influence of some dreaded fear, 
went close past me, but evidently without perceiving 
me. In the moonbeams I discovered the figure to be 
that of the Marquis de la Fare. I could easily account 
for his presence there at that hour as I knew he usually 
slept in that neighbourhood. He had scarcely pro- 
ceeded ten or twelve paces from the dark spot I occu- 
pied when a figure sprang up as if from the ground, 
knocked him down, and fell upon him. Surprised at 
the circumstance that could deliver into my hand the 
murderer, I inconsiderately gave a loud cry and en- 
deavoured by a leap from my secret corner to pounce 
upon him at once ; but in the act of making the exer- 
tion I got entangled in my cloak, and fell headlong 
upon the pavement. When I recovered my feet I be- 
held the man hastening away as if on the wings of the 
wind ; I sounded my horn and pursued him, — from a 
distance the whistle of the gens d'armes answers my 
call, — all is alive, — every one in motion, — the clash oi 
arms, the trampling of horses, is heard on every side, 
— this way, this way, — Desgrais, Desgrais, cried I, so 
loud as to be echoed back from every street." 

" In the light of the moon I saw the man always be- 
fore me, turning here, there, nay in every direction. 
in order to confuse me- — at length we came into the Rue 
de Nicaise, and here^his strength seemed to fail him — 
I redoubled my efforts — there were but fifteen paces 
betwixt us. — " 

"You came up with him — you seized him — the 
gens d'armes were near — " cried Regnie, with eyes of 
fire, laying hold of the arm of Desgrais as if he were 
the flying murderer. 

"But fifteen steps," continued the Lieutenant, in a 
hollow and perturbed voice, " were betwixt us when 
the man sprang aside into the shade, and disappeared 
through a walk" 

M Disappeared through a wall ! Are you raving,'* 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 31 

cried the President, stepping back several paces, and 
clasping his hands together. 

" Call me," replied Desgrais, pressing his hand upon 
his forehead, " Call me one whose mind is troubled 
with strange and idle fancies ; call me, noble Sir, a mad- 
man, a lunatic, a foolish believer in spirits, but it is just 
as I have told you. — Motionless I stood before the wall, 
while several of the police breathlessly approached, 
along with them the Marquis de la Fare, who having 
recovered from his blow appeared with a drawn sword 
in his hand ; — the torches were kindled, the wall was 
examined backwards and forwards, but no trace of a 
door, — of a window, — of any opening whatsoever w T as 
to be found. The wall is built of stone and connects 
two houses in which several persons reside ; but 
against whom not the least suspicion could be brought. 
To-day I- have again examined every thing minutely. — 
It must be the devil himself that is plaguing us !" 

The story of Desgrais was soon known over the 
whole of Paris, and the heads of ail were filled with 
enchantments, incantations, and the devil's bonds with 
La Voisin, Vigoreux, and the ill-famed priest, Le Sage. 
In the human mind there seems to be such an inherent 
inclination for supernatural things and wonderful 
events, as often masters our better reason, hence what 
Desgrais had only said in disappointed rage, " that the 
devil protected those that sell their souls," became the 
firm belief of almost everj^ one in the capital. It can 
easily be imagined that the Lieutenant's narrative re- 
ceived several odd and marvellous additions. The 
story of his adventure (with a wood-cut on the top of 
it, representing a most frightful figure of the devil sink- 
ing into the ground before the eyes of the terrified 
Desgrais,) was printed and sold in every corner of the 
city. In short, the people were so completely terrified, 
and the police so deprived of courage, that they wan- 
dered during the night, with trembling and fearful 



32 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

steps through the streets, covered with amulets and 
soaked with holy water. 

Argensqp the minister of police, saw the efforts of 
the Cliambre Ardente, shipwrecked, and begged of the 
king to appoint a Court which with more extensive 
powers might pursue and punish the perpetrators of 
this new crime. 

The king convinced that he had given already too 
much power to the Cliambre Ardente, and deeply re- 
gretting the cruelty of the innumerable executions 
which the blood-thirsty Regnie had caused, would not 
listen to the proposal. 

Another mode was then chosen to induce the king 
to grant this petition. In the apartments of Madame 
de Maintenon where his majesty was in the habit of 
spending the afternoon, and even there transacting 
business with his ministers till midnight, a poem was 
put into his hands in the name of the threatened and 
terrified lovers,complaining that when gallantry required 
them to carry a valuable present to the mistress of their 
affections, they had to do so at the imminent risk of 
their lives. Honour and pleasure required them no 
doubt, to shed their blood chivalrously for their beloved, 
but the circumstances were different with the base at- 
tack of an assassin against whom they could not arm 
themselves. They trusted therefore that Louis, the 
shining polestar of all love and gallantry, would with 
his pure beams dispel the gloomy cloud that hung over 
them, and discover the impenetrable secret which it con- 
cealed. The godlike hero that could crush his fiercest 
foes, was now implored to draw his shining sword of 
victory, and as Hercules overcame the Serpent, and 
Theseus the Minotaur, so it was believed that he would 
destroy the horrid and mysterious power which threat- 
ened to annihilate all love ; and which not content 
with Ranging innocent pleasure into deep sorrow, but 



MADAME DE SCUPERI. 33 

too frequently clothed its worshippers in the weeds of 
despair. 

Serious though the matter was, the poem was not 
deficient in witty and amusing turns, particularly in the 
; description of the anxious lover slipping out on tiptoe 
to the abode of his mistress, and how the fearful anx- 
iety which he experienced extinguished every thing 
like love, and nipt in the bud every scene of gay gal- 
lantry. Besides all this there was, towards the conclu- 
sion of the poem, a high panegyric on Louis XIV., and 
the king therefore could not fail to peruse the whole 
with visible pleasure. After having read it over, but 
without moving his eyes from the paper, he abruptly 
turned to Madame de Maintenon, read the poem over 
again in a loud voice and asked with a pleasing smile, 
what she thought of the request of the danger-threat- 
ened lovers. 

Madame de Maintenon replied, " That such secret 
proceedings were unworthy of any particular protec- 
tion, but still the blood-thirsty and repacious criminals 
were well deserving of particular measures being used 
for their detection and punishment." 

The king, dissatisfied with this answer, closed the 
paper and seemed intent on returning to the secretary 
of state, who was employed in an adjoining chamber, 
when his eye fell upon that of De Scuderi, who at that 
moment had taken a seat upon a small sofa near 
Madame de Maintenon ; on seeing her he instantly 
stopped. The pleasing smile which had been playing 
upon his mouth and cheek, but which had disappeared, 
regained its mastery, and standing right before her 
ladyship he again opened the poem, saying in a mild 
voice, " The Marchioness would now know nothing of 
the gallantries of our beloved lieges, and avoids my 
questions in a manner which was not looked for ; but 
what does your ladyship think of this poetical peti- 
tion?" 



M MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

De Scuderi rose respectfully from the sopha, a fleet- 
ing colour like the ruddy glow of evening overspread 
her pale and aged cheek, while she said with a slig " 
inclination of the head and with downcast eye : 




" Un amant qui craint les voleurs 
N'est point digne d'ainour." 

The king astonished at the chivalrous spirit of these 
iew words, which gave a death-blow to the whole 
poem, exclaimed with sparkling eyes, " By the holy 
Dionysius ! your ladyship is right ; no blind laws which 
may strike against the innocent as well as the guilty 
shall infringe upon freedom, — Argenson, and La Reg- 
nie mav do their best." 



CHAPTER IV. 

Oh thou sweet sparkler ! 
Thou more than stone of the Philosopher ■ 
Thou touchstone of Philosophy itself! 
Thou bright eye of the mine ! Thou loadstar 
Of the soul I The true magnetic pole to which 
All hearts point duly north like trembling needle? ! 
Thou flaming spirit of the Earth ! which sitting 
High on the Monarch's diadem attractest 
More worship than the Majesty who sweats 
Beneath the crown which makes his headach, like 
Millions of hearts which bleed to lead it lustre ! 
Shalt thou be mine? Byron's Werner- 

Maria, whose mind was full of all the horrors of the 
period, gave full scope to her imagination as she de- 
scribed to her mistress on the morrow what had hap- 
pened during the past night, and when with a trembling 
and anxious hand she presented the mysterious casket. 
The maid, as well as Baptiste who stood deadly pale 
in the corner of the apartment, twisting his night-cap 
into a thousand different forms, and scarcely able to 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 3S 

speak for anxiety and agitation, implored her ladyship 
for the sake of all the saints to open the casket with 
circumspection. Madame de Scuderi balancing the 
hidden mystery in her hand, and looking towards the 
two domestics who were pale as spectres, said with a 
smile, " That I am not rich, and have no purse worthy 
of murder, the robbers are well aware, who as you 
have said spy into the interior of every house, and 
must know that as well as either you or I. For what 
would they aim at my life ? — Who would dream of 
killing a person of seventy-three years of age, who 
never persecuted any one except the wretches which 
she herself created in her own Romances, — who has 
made some indifferent verses which could excite no 
man's envy, and who can leave nothing behind her save 
the rank of an old lady who went occasionally to court, 
and a few dozen well bound books with gilt edges ! — - 
And thou Maria may'st picture the man in as frightful 
colours as thou wilt, but still I cannot believe he bore 
me any evil intention, therefore I shall see what this 
contains." 

Maria started back several paces, and Baptiste with 
a deep sigh sank half down upon his knee as their 
mistress pressed her thumb upon the projecting steel 
knob of the casket, and its lid sprang up with a rustling 
noise. 

How confounded indeed was Madame de Scuderi 
when a pair of gold armlets richly studded with pre- 
cious stones, and also a necklace alike splendid spark- 
led before her eyes in the open casket. She took the 
jewels out, and while she praised the wonderful work 
of the necklace, Maria eyed the rich armlets and ex- 
claimed repeatedly, "that the proud Montespan her- 
self did not possess such ornaments." 

" But what does all this mean ? — what does it be- 
token ?" said de Scuderi, and casting her eye to the 
bottom of the casket, she observed a small folded papey 



36 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

which she confidently hoped would unravel the mystery. 
She opened it, but had scarcely read its contents when 
it fell from her trembling hands, and throwing an im- 
ploring look to heaven she sank back upon the sofa 
apparently under the influence of great mental agi- 
tation. Maria and Baptiste still dreaming of hidden 
dangers, sprang forward to discover the cause of their 
mistress' distress — "Oh!" cried de Scuderi, with a 
voice wherein sobs half choked her utterance, " Oh the 
mortification ! The deep shame. Was I then doomed 
to suffer this in my old age ? Have I, like a young 
and unthinking girl treated the matter with a foolish 
carelessness? Oh God! are words half uttered in jest 
capable of such frightful interpretation ? Has heaven 
then permitted that I who have been always true to 
virtue and piety from my childhood should be proved 
to have connection with the crimes of a diabolical con- 
federacy ?" 

While de Scuderi uttered these words she held a 
handkerchief before her eyes which were pouring forth 
a flood of bitter tears, and Maria and Baptiste were in 
a state of perplexity to know how they could alleviate 
the sorrow of their worthy mistress. Maria in the 
meantime picked up from the floor the fatal paper upon 
which was written : 



" Un amant qui craint les voleurs 
INPest point digne d'amour." 



" Your acute mind most noble lady has saved from 
great persecution us who practice the right of the 
strong upon the weak and cowardly, and appropriate 
to ourselves those valuables that are about to be be- 
stowed on others more unworthy of them. As a token 
of our gratitude accept of these ornaments ; though 
they are the most valuable which we for a long time 
have fallen in with, yet you, most worthy lady, are 
justly entitled to be invested with gems even still more 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 37 

beautiful than those now sent. We beg that you will 
however accept them, and trust you will not refuse us 
vour friendship and affectionate remembrances. 

THE INVISIBLE." 

"Is it possible," cried de Scuderi, when she had 
somewhat recovered, " Is it possible that any one can 
carry his shameless temerity, his villanous outrage so 
far ?" The sun at this moment shone bright through 
the window curtains of crimson silk, and it so happened 
that the diamonds which lay upon the table near the 
open casket sent forth a sparkling ruddy light. Avert- 
ing her eyes from the gems, de Scuderi hid a counte- 
nance in which horror was strongly pourtrayed, and 
ordered Maria to carry away instantly those frightful 
ornaments which the blood of the murdered still 
stained. 

Maria after locking up the necklace and armlets^ 
proposed to deliver up the jewels to the Minister of 
Police, and to confide to him every thing relative to 
the agitated appearance of the young man, and the 
peculiar circumstances attending the delivery of the 
casket. 

De Scuderi rose, walked silently up and down the 
room, like one considering deeply what ought to be 
done. She then ordered Baptiste to bring a sedan- 
chair, and at the same time requested Maria to arrange 
her dress, as she wished to go immediately to Madame 
de Maintenon. 

The necessary arrangements made, de Scuderi pro- 
ceeded to pay her visit to the Marchioness, and arri- 
ved at her residence at an hour when she knew she was 
always to be found alone in her own apartment, not 
forgetting to take the casket of jewels along with her. 

It may be easily imagined that Madame de Mainte- 
non was greatly surprised when she saw de Scuderi, 
usually so full of dignity and grace, notwithstanding 
4 



•38 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

her advanced years, enter her apartment, pale, distract 
ed, and with a trembling step. 

"By all the saints," cried she to the poor terror- 
struck lady, as she almost breathless and hardly able 
to stand attempted to reach the arm chair which the 
Marchioness moved towards her, " By all the saints, 
what has happened ?" 

De Scuderi having at length recovered her speech, 
mentioned what had occurred, and bewailed in terms 
of poignant regret the horrible consequences of the 
inconsiderate jest with which she had answered the 
petition of the danger-threatened lovers. 

De Maintenon, after having heard every circum- 
stance, declared that she considered de Scuderi had 
taken this strange phenomenon too much to heart, 
that this daring outrage of the villanous band could 
never injure such a pious lady as herself, — and desired 
to see the ornaments. 

De Scuderi placed in her hands the open casket, 
and the Marchioness could not contain a loud excla- 
mation of astonishment, as the costly jewels sparkled 
before her. 

She took out the necklace and the armlets, and ap- 
proached the window, where she allowed the sun's 
rays to fall upon the gems, and then examined narrowly 
the exquisite workmanship of the setting, to form a 
correct idea of the wonderful art with which each par- 
ticular and minute link of the chain was finished. 

After a few moment's examination, Madame cfe 
Maintenon turned round towards de Scuderi and ex- 
claimed, " Of a certainty, there is but one individual 
that can make such ornaments, — no person save Rene 
Cardillac could finish such a necklace and such arm- 
lets." 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 39 



CHAPTER V. 

He was a man, take him for all in "all, 
1 shall not look upon his like again. 

Shakspeare* 

Rene Cardillac was at that time the most skilful 
goldsmith in Paris, and was likewise one of the most 
singular men of his age. In figure he was rather short 
than tall, broad-shouldered, and of a strong muscular 
form, and although nearly sixty years had rolled over 
his head, he still possessed the strength and agility of 
youth. The former indeed was abundantly conspicu- 
ous in the thick, curly, red hair that encircled his full 
and ruddy countenance. If Cardillac, however, had 
not been known throughout all Paris for a just, ho- 
nourable, and disinterested man ; ever ready to lend 
his assistance to the distressed, the very sinister ex- 
pression which lurked in his small, hollow, green $ 
piercing eyes, would have doubtless brought down 
t upon him suspicion of secret and mysterious knavery. 

Cardillac was at that time as has been said, not only 
the most skilful workman in Paris but likewise through- 
out the whole world. Intimately acquainted with the 
nature of precious stones, he knew so well the art of 
treating and setting them, that the ornament which at 
first was considered of little beauty, issued from his 
workshop possessed of the most dazzling splendour. 
Every commission he undertook with ardour, and de- 
manded a price which many considered by no means 
equivalent to the value of the work. He was so eager 
in his labours that he was heard hammering in his 
workshop day and night, and often when the trinket 
was almost finished, he all at once would become dis^ 



40 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

pleased with its form, with the setting of some gem, or 
with the taste of some small link, and would throw the 
whole of his labour into the crucible, and begin it 
anew. Thus every thing he finished was a master- 
piece of art, and always filled its owner with delight 
and astonishment. It was now, however, hardly pos- 
sible to obtain from him any thing that was given him 
to finish. With a thousand excuses he amused the 
owners from week to week, and from month to month. 
In vain he was offered double price for his labour, not 
. one Louis d'or more would he take than the stipulated 
sum. And when forced at last by urgent entreaties to 
deliver up the ornament, he could not conceal signs of 
the deep vexation, nay of the inward rage which boil- 
ed within him. In the event of parting with an orna- 
ment perhaps worth several thousand livres, either from 
the costliness of the gems or the particularly well exe- 
cuted nature of the setting and gold work, he appear- 
ed continually like a person out of his senses ; he neg- 
ected his work, and was seen running up and down 
cursing himself, his labour, and all the world. But 
no sooner did any one approach him and call loudly, 
" Rene Cardillac, would you be inclined to make a 
beautiful necklace for my bride, armlets for my sweet- 
heart? Sic." than he stopped at once, glanced with 
his small piercing eyes at the person who addressed 
him, and asked, while rubbing his hands, " What do 
you want ?" 

The lover pulls out a small box, saying, " Here are 
some jewels, they are no great things, — common stuff, 
but under your hands" — 

Cardillac interrupts his speech, snatches the box 
from his hold, pulls the jewels out, which are appa- 
rently of no great value, holds them up to the light, 
and cries out with enthusiasm, " Ha ! ha ! — common 
stuff? By no means, — beautiful stones ! noble gems! 
Leave them only to me, and if you don't grudge a 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 41 

handful of Louis d'ors, I shall add some gems besides, 
and make an ornament that shall sparkle in your eyes 
as bright as the sun himself!" 

To this the person replies, "I leave it entirely to 
yourself, Master Rene, and will pay willingly what* 
ever you demand." 

Without any discrimination whether the person be a 
rich citizen or a nobleman of the Court, Cardillac 
throws his arms about his neck, and pressing him pas- 
sionately to his breast, exclaims that he is once more 
happy, and that in the course of a week the work will 
be ready. — -He runs to his house, enters lik workshop, 
and hammers on incessantly for eight days, when a 
masterpiece is completed. But when the owner re- 
turns to pay the stipulated sum, and requests to have 
the finished ornament, Cardillac becomes sullen, stub* 
born, and impertinent. 

" But Master Cardillac, consider, to-morrow is my 
marriage day." 

" What does your marriage signify to me f — Call 
back in a fortnight." 

" The ornament is ready, — here is the money, — I 
must have it." 

" I tell you, I have still to alter many things about 
it, and will not give it to you to-day." 

" And I tell you, that if you will not give the orna- 
ment to me, which I will most willingly pay double 
price for, by fair means, you shall soon see me return^ 
accompanied by Argenson's officers of police." 

" May the devil torment you with a hundred burn- 
ing pinches, and hang three-hundred weight by this 
self-same necklace, that your bride may be strangled 
withal." 

Saying so, Cardillac thrust the jewels into the 
breast-pocket of the bridegroom, seizes him by the arm, 
and turns him out of the room-door. 

Besides all this, it was altogether unaccountable why 
4* 



42 MADAME DE SCUDER1. 

Cardillac frequently after having undertaken a work 
with the greatest enthusiasm, almost immediately after 
beseeched his employer, not only by the holy virgin 
and all the saints, but likewise with tokens of the 
greatest internal agitation and the most frightful oaths, 
sometimes even with sobs and tears, to be permitted to 
give up the work which he had consented to finish. 

Many persons of the Court, and of the highest rank 
among the people, had in vain offered large sums to 
have only the smallest specimen of Cardillac' s handi- 
work. He threw himself at the king's feet, and implo- 
red the favour not to be asked to do any work for him* 
He refused also every order of Madame de Maintenon, 
and even rejected with scorn and horror, the offer she 
made to him of finishing for her an emblematical ring 
which she had purposed presenting to Racine. 

" I wager," said de Maintenon, " I wager that Car- 
dillac, although I send to him merely to discover for 
whom he made these ornaments, will refuse to attend 
my summons in the fear of being pestered with an or- 
der, for you must know he still positively refuses exe- 
cuting any thing for me. He has given up, however. 
for some time I believe, his stubbornness and caprice, 
and at present labours even more diligently than for- 
merly, and delivers up too his finished works at once, 
although still with apparently deep displeasure and an 
averted countenance." 

De Scuderi considering that it would be a most im- 
portant matter gained, provided the ornaments by any 
means whatever, could be put into the possession of 
their rightful owner, thought, that the person sent to 
this strange individual, should be instructed to say thai 
none of his works were required, but merely his opinion 
concerning some jewels. This was approved of by de 
Maintenon, and Cardillac was sent for accordingly, and 
being met by accident upon the street, it was not lon£ 
before he entered the apartment. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 43 

No sooner did he discover Madame de Scuderi, than 
his countenance gave tokens of great agitation : he 
looked like one that was struck by some most unexpect- 
ed occurrence, for he forgot the claims which were at 
that moment due to rank, having in the first place 
made a low and respectful obeisance to the worthy de 
Scuderi, and then merely turned round to the March- 
ioness. The latter then hastily asked him, while point- 
ing to the ornaments which sparkled on the dark green- 
covered table, whether these were his work. 

Cardillac scarcely threw a glance upon them, but 
packed them up carefully in the open casket, and while 
the Marchioness was staring him full in the face, he 
pushed them away from him with considerable warmth, 
saying, as a contemptuous smile flitted across his lip, 
"Most noble lady, one must know very little indeed 
about the works of Rene Cardillac, not to see after a 
moments observation, that no other goldsmith in the 
world could finish such jewels, — indeed they are my 
handiwork." 

" Then tell me," continued de Maintenon, '"for 
whom were these jewels made ?" 

" For myself," replied Cardillac, — " yes, you may 
consider it strange," continued he, while de Maintenon 
and de Scuderi both looked at him with eyes of won- 
der, the former full of unbelief, the latter full of anxious 
expectation how the matter would end ; "Yes, you may 
consider it strange, but it is even so. To make a 
beautiful piece of work I sought out the best gems in 
my possession, and I laboured upon them with a dili- 
gence, a care, and an enthusiasm that I never felt be- 
fore ; but sometime ago these ornaments disappeared 
from my workshop in a way quite unaccountable." 

" Heaven be praised !" cried de Scuderi, her eyes 
sparkling with joy and springing up from her chair 
with the life and agility of a girl, she approached Car- 
dillac, and unceremoniously laid her hand upon his 



14 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

shoulder. "Receive," said she, "receive back again. 
Master Rene, the property which villains have robbed 
you of." 

She then related circumstantially how the ornaments 
had come into her possession. Cardillac listened in 
silence, with eyes that seemed riveted to the ground, 
occasionally giving a peculiar hem, or the exclamation 
of " So, so." When de Scuderi had concluded her 
story, it seemed as if Rene's mind was struggling with 
thoughts which prevented him coming to any determi- 
nation. He rubbed his brow, sighed, and drew his 
hand across his eyes as if to wipe off a starting tear. 

At length he seized the casket which de Scuderi was 
presenting to him, dropped slowly upon his knee, and 
said : " On you most worthy lady has fate bestowed 
these jewels, — yes, now I remember, that while I la- 
boured upon them I thought of you, yea for you I la- 
boured. Refuse not to take these ornaments from me 
and to wear them, they are the best I have made for a 
long time." 

"Aye! Aye!" answered de Scuderi, jocularly — 
" are you dreaming Master Rene ? w r ould it really be- 
come me, do you think, at my years to deck myself out 
with precious stones — Why present me with such a 
splendid gift ? Go ! go ! Master Rene, were I as lovely 
and rich as the Marchioness de Fontange, I would not 
indeed let such ornaments slip from my hands, but what 
have these emaciated arms to do with vain splendour — 
what has this veiled neck to do with sparkling bril- 
liants ?" 

In the meantime Cardillac had risen from his kneel- 
ing posture, and with an agitated and bewildered look 
said, as he pushed away the casket which de Scuderi 
was offering him : " Take pity on me and accept the 
jewels. You cannot conceive how profound a respect 
I entertain in my heart for your virtues, for your great 
-ervices ! — Accept then this trifling present, only for 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 45 

the toil it cost me, and as a token of the warm affection 
I feel at this moment for you." 

Seeing that de Scuderi still hesitated to accept the 
proffered gift, — de Maintenon took the casket from 
Cardillac' s hands, saying : " Now de Scuderi you al- 
ways talk of your great age, but really what have either 
you or I to trouble ourselves about years and their bur- 
den ? and do you not behave like some young silly girl 
who would willingly accept of proffered fruit could it 
only be obtained without hands and fingers ? — Refuse 
not to receive from the chivalrous Master Rene, as a 
freely offered present, that which thousands could not 
obtain for gold or for prayers." 

In the meantime Madame de Maintenon pressed the 
casket upon de Scuderi, and Cardillac threw himself 
again on his knees before her, kissed her gown, and 

her hands stammered sighed wept — sobbed — 

sprang up, and ran like a madman from the apart- 
ment. 

Filled with terror and amazement, de Scuderi ex- 
claimed : " By all the holy saints what has befallen 
the man?" 

The Marchioness in a gay and witty humour, al- 
though altogether free from impertinence, gave a loud 
laugh, saying : " It is quite evident Madame, that 
Master Rene Cardillac is dying with love for you, and 
begins, according to the approved methods of ancient 
gallantry, to storm your heart with valuable presents." 

De Maintenon carried the jest still farther, while she 
exhorted de Scuderi not to be too cruel to her despair- 
ing lover, and the latter giving way to her accustomed 
gaiety, was carried away by the stream of a thousand 
fanciful circumstances ; among the rest she thought that 
if the matter was as De Maintenon imagined, it would 
be almost impossible for her when married to set before 
?he world the unheard of example of irreproachable 



iti MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

honour in an old goldsmith's wife of seventy three 
years of age ! 

De Maintenon requested to plait for her the bridal 
crown, and to instruct her in the duties of a good and 
careful housewife, that she might be prevented from 
receiving the slightest rub from the world. 

When at length de Scuderi rose to leave the Mar- 
chioness, her countenance notwithstanding all their 
jesting assumed a very serious look, especially when 
she took the casket of jewels in her hands, and said : 
" Notwithstanding all you say, Madame de Maintenon, 
I shall never be able to make any use of these orna- 
ments. They have been by whatever means recovered, 
once in the possession of that hellish confederacy, 
which with the boldness of the Devil, or rather in league 
with him, rob and murder. I shudder at the blood 
which seems still to cleave to the sparkling gems ; — 
and then too CardillacY behaviour. I must confess it 
appeared to me extremely odd, and unnaturally anx- 
ious. Nor can I get rid of a dark presentiment, that 
behind all this, there is a frightful secret concealed, and 
yet too when I bring the whole matter distinctly and 
circumstantially before me, I cannot very well perceive 
wherein any secret can be concealed, and particularly 
what the worthy Master Rene, the very model of a good 
and pious citizen, should have to do with any thing 
that is bad and villanous. However, it is very certain 
I shall never be able to bring myself to wear these 
ornaments." 

Madame de Maintenon thought that de Scuderi car- 
ried her scruples too far, especially when on asking 
her what in her conscience she would really do ? was 
answered firmly and seriously, that she would rather 
throw the jewels into the Seine than ever wear them. 

Madam de Scuderi made this very singular interview 
with Master Rene Cardillac the subject of some pleas- 



MADAME DE SCUDERL 47 

ing verses, which she read the following morning to the 
king in the apartments of de Maintenon. 

It may be easily imagined that de Scuderi at the ex- 
pense of poor Master Rene, and conquering all the 
terrors which her secret presentiment had produced 
upon herself, would draw in the liveliest colours a most 
laughable picture of a goldsmith's bride of seventy- 
three years of age and of ancient family. 

It is enough to say his Majesty laughed immode- 
rately, and swore by Dionysius, that Boileau Des- 
preaux had found his master, for the poem of Madame 
de Scuderi was the wittiest that ever w r as written. 



CHAPTER VI. 

Who now can shield us from the fury 
That seems upon our steps to harry f 
Our brow exudes a frozen sweat 
On hearing; it. 

List to that scream ! that broken crying ! 
Could not the death-gasp hush that sighing : 
Are these the fruits of promis'd peace ? 
Oh wretchedness I 

Bo-wring's Bat avian Anthology, 

Several months had elapsed after the foregoing in* 
terview, when one day fate determined that Madame 
de Scuderi should cross the Pont Neuf in the glass- 
coach of the Duchess de Montansier. The invention 
of neat glass coaches was at that period so recent, that; 
the curiosity of the people was awakened, and a crowd 
as great was collected around them, as when a quack 
doctor's waggon made its appearance. On this occa- 
sion also, it so happened that the gaping multitude sur- 
rounded the coach of Montansier upon the, Pont Neuf, 
almost to the complete hemming in of the motion of the 
horses. At that moment de Scuderi heard a bustle 



48 MADAME DE SCUDERL 

and cursing, and observed a man with blows and pusli- 
ings making his way through the thickest of the crowd 
to the spot where the carriage was impeded, and as 
he approached, the piercing eyes of a youthful coun- 
tenance deadly pale, and much agitated with grief, at- 
tracted her attention. The young man in fact kept his 
eye firmly fixed upon de Scuderi as he worked himself 
forward to the door of the carriage, which he opened 
with a hurried and agitated hand, — threw a letter into 
her ladyship's lap, and giving and receiving numerous 
blows, disappeared through the crowd as he had come. 

No sooner did the man appear at the carriage door, 
than Maria, who was at the side of her mistress, gave a 
cry of horror and fell back in a swoon. In vain did de 
Scuderi pull the cord and call to the coachman ; he, 
as if impelled by some foul spirit, laid the whip to the 
horses, who dashing the foam from their mouths, ca- 
pered, pranced, and at length thundered on at a sharp 
pace across the bridge. 

De Scuderi poured out immediately some strong 
restorative over the brow of the unconscious girl, who 
in a short time opened her eyes, and clinging firmly 
with a trembling hand to her mistress, stammered out, 
with a face wherein anxiety and horror were strongly 
depicted : " For the sake of the holy virgin, what did 
that frightful being want ? Oh it was he, — it was he, 
who brought you the casket on that fearful night !" 

De Scuderi quieted the poor girl's fears by assuring 
her that nothing bad had yet come out of it, and that 
that could only come from knowing what the letter 
contained ; she tore open the sheet and found these 
words : 

" An evil destiny which you can avert, sinks me 
into the very abyss of misery ! I implore you, as a son 
in the warmest glow of youthful affection, would im- 
plore a mother from whom he could conceal nothing, 
to allow the necklace and armlets which you received 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 49 

through me, to be sent under some pretence, or in anj 
other way you may think better, to Master Rene Car- 
dillac ; your welfare, your life depends upon it. Let 
not two days elapse before you do so, or else I shall 
force myself into your dwelling, and murder myself 
before your eyes !" 

" It is now evident," said de Scuderi when she had 
read the epistle, " that this unknown man but too 
plainly belongs to the band of thieves and murderers 
that infest the city, yet against me he bears nothing 
bad in his mind* Had he been permitted to speak 
with me that night, who knows, how many wonderful 
accidents and how many profound secrets would have 
been cleared up, of which I now seek in vain for the 
slightest trace in my mind. But such matters mus,t 
now be left to themselves — that which is requested of 
me in this letter I will attend to, were it only to get 
rid of those unhallowed ornaments which methinks are 
the talisman of the devil ! Cardillac shall have them, 
and if true to his old practices, will not so easily let 
them slip out of his fingers." 

On the following day even, de Scuderi thought of 
going herself with the ornaments to the old goldsmith ; 
but it so happened that all the beaux esprits of Paris 
had that morning resolved to storm her ladyship with 
verses, plays, and anecdotes. Scarcely had la Cha- 
pelle finished the scene of a tragedy, and slyly assured 
himself that he had now beat down Racine, when the 
tragic poet himself entered and laid him prostrate with 
a kingly pathetic speech, and remained master of the 
field till Boileau caused his brilliant stars to arise in 
the dark tragic sky, in order to get rid of the eternal 
babble about the collonade of the Louvre, which the 
architectural Doctor Perrault was mixing up with the 
conversation. 

It was past mid-day, and de Scuderi being obliged 
to wait upon the Duchess de Montansier, her visit to 
5 



50 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

Master Rene Cardillac was necessarily put off till the 
next morning. 

De Scuderi felt herself tormented during the night 
with a more than ordinary restlessness. The young 
man who had given her the letter upon the Pont Neuf 
stood continually before her eyes, and from the bottom 
of her heart a reminiscence seemed to rise of her having 
once seen such a face and such features. Anxious 
dreams disturbed her light slumbers, and it appeared 
to her as if she, thoughtless of the consequences, and 
reckless of censure, had seized with helping power 
the hand which the unhappy wretch, sinking into an 
abyss had stretched out towards her, — nay, she thought 
she would have done so, even although it should have 
led to the most ruinous of results — the fhost flagitious 
of crimes. 

She rose early from her restless couch, — ordered 
herself to be dressed, and proceeded, not forgetting the 
casket, to the house of the goldsmith. 

Towards the Rue Nicaise where Cardillac lived, the 
populace were flocking in vast crowds,— they had al- 
ready collected before his house, and were bawling and 
knocking at the door which they doubtless would have 
broken open, had they not been prevented by the po- 
lice who surrounded the house. A thousand angry 
voices in wild and noisy confusion, cried out, " Tear 
him in pieces ! annihilate the base villain !" 

At length Desgrais appeared with a numerous band 
which soon cleared the way through the thickest of the 
crowd ; the house-door springs open, and a man load- 
ed with chains is brought out, and under the most hor- 
rific imprecations of the enraged populace is dragged 
along. 

At this very moment de Scuderi arrived, and while 
almost fainting with terror and frightful forboding at 
the sight, a wild and sorrowful cry struck her ear. 
M Forward! farther forward !" cried she, almost un* 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 51 

consciously, to the coachman, who by a clever and bold 
turning dashed through the thickest of the crowd 
and stopped directly in front of the goldsmith's door* 
There, de Scuderi beheld Desgrais, and at his feet a 
young and lovely girl, whose fair and dishevelled hair 
fell upon a bosom, the wild and passionate throbbings 
of which, a simple morning garb could ill conceal, and 
in whose countenance there were only at that moment 
to be seen the marks of fearful anxiety and comfortless 
despair ; she convulsively clasped his knees, and cried 
in tones full of terrific and piercing sorrow : " He is 
innocent ! — Yes ! — He is innocent !" 

In vain could the efforts of Desgrais, in vain could 
the endeavours of his people tear her away from him or 
raise her from the ground. At length a strong, un- 
feeling wretch, with coarse and clownish hands seized 
upon the afflicted girl, and tore her with brutal force 
from the lieutenant, and staggering back himself, awk- 
wardly left the poor girl to fare as she could, who un- 
supported, fell back speechless upon the stone steps of 
the door, and remained lying as if dead upon the street. 

Madame de Scuderi could not stand it any longer. 
u What has happened ? what has happened ?" cried 
she, as she hastily opened the door of the carriage and 
stepped out. The people bowed most respectfully to 
the worthy lady, who observing that several compas- 
sionate women had raised up the girl, and had set her 
upon the steps, and were now bathing her forehead 
with some strong balsam, advanced towards Desgrais, 
and with some warmth repeated her question. 

" A most horrible affair has happened," replied 
Desgrais, " Rene Cardillac was this morning found 
murdered by means of a stilletto, and his assistant 
Oliver Brusson is the murderer ; he has just been sent 
to prison." 

" And the girl ?" exclaimed de Scuderi. 

" She is," said Desgrais, " she is Madelena, Car- 



52 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

dillac's daughter. The base villain was her lover. 
She now weeps, wails, and cries out above all things, 
that Oliver is innocent— is perfectly innocent. In fine, 
she knows something of the matter, and I must order 
her also to be carried to the Conciergerie." 

Desgrais on saying this, threw a roguish look upon 
the maid, at which de Scuderi trembled. In the mean- 
time the girl had begun to breathe lightly, but still she 
lay with closed eyes, incapable of speech or motion, 
and no one knew what to do, whether to carry her 
into her father's house, or to let her lie till she had in 
some measure recovered. 

Deeply affected, and with eyes that were streaming 
with tears, De Scuderi felt fears for the girl from the 
known licentiousness of Desgrais and his associates. 
At that moment there was a noise of many feet upon 
the stair ; it was the police bringing down the corpse 
of the goldsmith. On observing this, de Scuderi, with 
ready decision called out, " Desgrais, I shall take the 
girl home with me, you may take care of the rest !" 

A hollow murmur of approbation flew through the 
crowd. The women raised up the girl in their arms ; 
a hundred hands were stretched out to offer assistance, 
and as if floating in the air the insensible maid was 
borne into the coach, while a shower of blessings on 
the worthy lady who had torn innocence from its 
blood-thirsty judge flowed from every lip. 

The applications of Serons, then one of the most 
celebrated of the Parisian Physicians, were at length 
successful, for Madelena, who had lain for some hours 
in a state of perfect unconsciousness gave tokens of 
recovery. Madame de Scuderi completed what the 
physician had begun, and a flood of tears gave vent to 
the anguish that was preying on the young girl's mind. 
When thus far recovered, Madelena endeavoured as 
far as her sobbings would permit, to relate how the 
event had occurred. 



MADAME DE SCUDEKI. 53 

Her story was, — that she was awakened at midnight 
by a light tapping at her chamber door, and immedi- 
ately recognised the voice of Oliver, who implored her 
in the most earnest manner to get up instantly, as her 
father lay at the point of death. In terror she leaped 
from her bed, opened the door, and followed Oliver, 
who, pale, distracted, and dripping with sweat, pro- 
ceeded with trembling steps, and bearing a light in his 
hand to the workshop. There her father was lying 
with fixed eyes and in the agonies of approaching dis- 
solution. With the most poignant lamentations she 
threw herself upon him and immediately took notice of 
his blood-stained shirt. Oliver softly drew her back 
and began to wash with some healing balsam and to 
bind up the wound which was on his left breast. Du- 
ring these operations her father's senses again returned, 
and the death-rattle for a moment ceased ; he cast up- 
on his daughter, and then upon Oliver the most tender 
and most affectionate looks, seized Madelena's hand, 
laid it in that of Oliver, and pressed them convulsively 
together. Both fell down upon their knees by the 
bedside of the father, who with a piercing cry directed 
•his eye to heaven — sank back upon his pillow and ex- 
pired. Both were now plunged in the most profound 
anguish, and gave vent to their sorrow in sobs and 
tears. Oliver then told how his master in a visit he 
was called upon to make during the night, and on 
which he was ordered to accompany him, was stabbed 
in his presence, and how he with the greatest exertions 
had borne the heavy man to his house, never once dream- 
ing that he was mortally wounded. Madelena also stated, 
that the morning had scarcely dawned before, the peo- 
ple of the house, who had heard the noise of feet and 
weeping during the night, entered, and found her and 
Oliver still kneeling comfortless by the corpse of her 

father, — an alarm was instantly raised— the police ar- 

5# 



54 MADAME DE SCUDERI, 

rived — and Oliver was dragged away to prison as the 
murderer of his master. 

Madelena now drew the most touching picture of 
the virtue, the piety, and the constancy that character- 
ized her beloved Oliver. That he had held his master 
in as high respect as if he had been his own father, and 
that her father returned that love in its fullest measure, 
that he had chosen him for his son-in-law in spite of 
his poverty, because he considered his abilities and his 
diligence were equal to his constancy and to the noble- 
ness of his disposition. All this Madelena said from 
the conviction of her heart, and concluded by adding, 
that although Oliver had in her very presence struck 
a dagger into the bosom of her father, she would have 
rather thought it a delusion of hell, as have once be- 
lieved that he was capable of such a horrid — such a 
frightful crime ! 

De Scuderi deeply moved by Madelena's violent 
sorrow, and alike inclined to consider the poor young 
man innocent, made farther inquiries, and found every 
thing that Madelena had said concerning the domestic 
relations that existed between Cardillac and his associ- 
ate to be perfectly correct. The neighbours too with 
one accord praised Oliver, as the model of a moral, 
pious, worthy, diligent young man, — nobody knew 
any bad of him, and yet when the frightful deed was 
mentioned, every one shrugged his shoulders, and 
thought that there was something unaccountable and 
mysterious in the matter. 

Oliver, placed before the Chambre Ardente, denied 
(as de Scuderi understood,) with the greatest candour 
and firmness, the crime that was laid to his charge, 
and maintained that his master was attacked and 
struck down in his presence upon the street, and that 
he had dragged him alive to his own house, where he 
very soon afterwards expired. This tallied with every 
thing that Madelena had related. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 55 

De Scuderi went over again and again every minute 
circumstance attendant upon this dreadful accident. 
She asked particularly whether there ever had been a 
quarrel between the master and his associate, and whe- 
ther Oliver was altogether free from that species of 
frenzy, which, like blind passion, overcomes the best 
hearted men, and leads them to commit deeds which all 
their own cares are found incompetent to prevent. 
Yet the longer and the more enthusiastically Madelena 
talked of the domestic happiness in which the three, 
bound by the most endearing ties, had lived, the more 
every shadow of suspicion disappeared against him 
who was now accused. Laying aside, however, all 
those minute incidents which loudly pleaded for Oli- 
ver's innocence, and considering him to have been the 
murderer of Cardillac, de Scuderi could not find in the 
whole range of possibility, any ground for this un- 
natural act, which in every point of view must have 
destroyed Oliver's happiness. — He is poor — but clever. 
He had succeeded in winning the confidence of his 
celebrated master, — he loved his daughter — the father 
approved of his choice — his happiness, his prosperity 
was secured for life. — But allow — God knows by what 
means enticed, that Oliver overcome by rage, let fall 
his murderous hand upon his benefactor and father, 
what devilish hypocrisy would be requisite to enable 
him to conduct himself after the deed was done in the 
manner he did ! 

In the firm persuasion of the innocence of Oliver, 
de Scuderi resolved to save him, cost what it might. 



56 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 



CHAPTER VII. 



Arias. A morir si conduca. 

Arbace. Oh Dio ! fermate. Signor Pieta. 

Artas, Non la sperar per lui : 

Troppo enorme e il delitto, Io non confondo 

II reo coll' innocente ! 

Artaserte di Metastasis 



Artax. Lead him to death. 

Arbace. Good heavens ! stop I Have mercy Sire ! 

Artax. There is no hope for him : 

His crime is far too black for pardon, 

I confound not the guilty with the innocent ! 

Metastatic?* Artaserx* 

It appeared to Madame de Scuderi that it would 
be better before calling upon the favour of the King, 
to go first to the President La Regnie, in order to 
draw his attention to all the circumstances which be- 
spoke the innocence of Oliver Brusson, and thus per- 
haps to awaken a favourable impression in the Presi- 
dent's mind towards the accused, which he would 
doubtless, anxiously participate with the other judges. 

La Regnie received Madame de Scuderi with the 
greatest respect, a respect, considering the manner she 
was honoured by the King, she was justly entitled to. 
He listened attentively to every thing she brought 
forward touching the horrid deed — Oliver's connection 
with it, and particularly the young man's unexception- 
able character, A cunning, nay almost a malicious 
smile played upon his lip when he observed, that the 
affirmations and floods of tears that accompany exhor- 
tations should not be passed over without considera- 
tion, — that a judge should not be the enemy of the ac- 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 57 

fused, but should respect and lend a ready ear to every 
thing that militates in his favour. 

When de Scuderi had finished what she had to com- 
municate, she wiped the tears from her eyes and re- 
mained silent. La Regnie then began : " It is well 
worthy of your compassionate heart, that you, moved 
by the tears of a young girl under the influence of 
love's blind passion, should believe every thing which 
she brings forward, and even that you should be blind 
to the least trace of a most villanous transaction, but 
it is otherwise with the judge who is accustomed to 
tear away the mask that conceals the basest hypocrisy. 
It would indeed be improper for me to unravel to every 
one who might ask me, the progressive course of a cri- 
minal process. I do my duty, and the opinion of the 
world has but little influence on me. Villains shall 
tremble before the Chambre Ardente which metes out 
no other punishments but blood or fire ! But that in 
your estimation I may not be accounted a severe and 
terrible executioner of the law, I propose in a few 
words to convince you of the guilt of the young villain 
upon whom, heaven be praised, vengeance now has 
fallen. Your acute mind will then despise the compas- 
sion which does honour to your heart, but which would 
be altogether unsuitable to me. Then listen — In the 
morning Rene Cardillac is found murdered by a stilet- 
to — nobody is near him except his daughter and his 
associate Oliver Brusson. In Oliver's chamber, under 
horrid circumstances, a stiletto is found newly stained 
with blood and which precisely fits the wound — ' Car- 
dillac,' Oliver has said, 'was murdered during the 
night before my eyes.' * Did the person wish to rob 
him ?' ' That I know not !' ' You went with him and 
it was not possible for you to prevent the murder — to 
hold the murderer fast — to call for help ?' ' My Mas- 
ter went fifteen, nay twenty paces before me — I follow- 
ed him.' ' Wherefore in all the world were you so far 



58 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

from him ?' c My master wished it. 1 ' What had Mas- 
ter Cardillac particularly to do on the street so late at 
night V ' That I cannot tell.' ' But did he ever go 
out formerly from his house after nine o'clock at night ?* 
Here Oliver stammered, became agitated, sighed, and 
burst into tears — he swore however by all the saints, 
that Cardillac went out that night and received his 
death-blow. Now, it is particularly to be remarked, 
that it has been proved in the clearest manner that 
Cardillac never left his house that night, and Oliver's as- 
sertion that he went out with him is a daring fabrication. 
The street door has a large heavy lock which at opening 
and shutting makes a loud noise, and the door itself 
grates so harshly on its hinges that every time it is 
opened, the sound is echoed even to the highest floor 
of the house. Now there dwells in the undermost 
floor, quite close to the street door, old Master Claude 
Patru and his maid-servant, a person of almost 80 
years of age, but still lively and acute. Both these 
persons heard Cardillac, according to his usual custom, 
come up the steps that evening at nine o'clock precisely, 
shut and fasten the door with considerable force, — then 
mount up stairs, — repeat in a loud voice the evening 
prayer, and from the shutting of the room door they 
were convinced he went into his own sleeping apart- 
ment. Master Claude complained of sleeplessness, as 
is but too common with persons of his great age. 
That night, at least, he could not shut an eye ; the 
maid went into the kitchen, it might be probably half- 
past nine, and in going thither she was obliged to cross 
the passage, brought a light, and sat down at the table 
near Master Patru, to read an ancient chronicle, while 
the old man, occupied with his own thoughts, sometimes 
sat in the arm chair, and sometimes walked lightly up and 
down the room to bring on weariness and sleep. Eve- 
ry thing remained still and silent till midnight ; then 
however, there was heard above, quick steps, a loud 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 59 

crash as if some one let fall a heavy burden on the 
ground, and almost at the same moment a hollow groan- 
Both were seized with a singular anxiety and tremb- 
ling. The horror of the dreadful deed which at that 
moment was perpetrated, passed away, but with the 
dawn of morning, there came to light what was exe- 
cuted in the darkness." 

" But," said de Scuderi, " considering all the circum- 
stances I so fully enumerated, can you really give any 
reasonable pretence for this hellish deed?" 

"Hem!" replied La Regnie, " Cardillac was not 
poor, — he was the possessor of many valuable gems." 

" But," continued de Scuderi, " would they not all 
go to his daughter ? — you forget that Oliver was to be 
Cardillac' s son-in-law." 

" He was perhaps obliged to share them, — or even 
murder for others," said La Regnie. 

" Share them — murder for others ?" cried de Scude- 
ri, with astonishment. 

" Know," continued the President, " know then, 
most noble Lady ! that Oliver should long ago have 
bled upon the Place de Greve ; does not this deed of 
his most probably stand connected with that thick veil- 
ed mystery which until now has so frightfully hung 
over the whole of Paris. Oliver manifestly belongs to 
that base band, which holding in contempt all the 
plans, the stratagems, and powers of the courts of Jus- 
tice, have carried on their diabolical practices safe and 
unpunished. Through him must — through him shall 
every thing become clear ! — Cardillac' s wound too is 
precisely similar to those of the persons who have 
been found robbed and murdered upon the streets. 
But the most convincing thing of all is, that since Oli- 
ver Brusson's apprehension all murders and robberies 
have ceased. The streets are now as safe at night as 
during day; nay, it is very probable that Oliver was- 
the leader of the band. Still he will not confess :— bin 



60 MADAME DE SCUDER1. 

there are means to make him speak against his 
will!"— 

" And Madelena," cried de Scuderi, " and Madele- 
na — the affectionate innocent dove ?" 

"Aye!" said La Regnie with a poisonous smile, 
"aye, who can assure me positively that she is not an 
accomplice ? Why may not her tears flow more for 
the murderer than the murdered ?" 

" What do you say ?" cried de Scuderi, it is not pos- 
sible — a father, — such a girl — " 

"Oh," interrupted the President — "think but on 
Brinvillier ! you must forgive me should I see it neces- 
sary to tear from you your protegee, and order her to 
be thrown into prison." 

De Scuderi shuddered at the horrible suspicion. It 
seemed to her as if no affection, no virtue could subsist 
in the opinion of that frightful man ; his most secret 
thoughts spoke but of murder and bloodshed. She 
rose up — " Be humane !" was all that her agitated 
and trembling lips could articulate. 

When in the act of descending the steps, whither 
the President had with ceremonious politeness accom- 
panied her, a strange thought came -acjcoss her mind ; 
"would I be permitted to see the unfortunate Oliver 
Brusson ?" said she, turning round abruptly to the Pre- 
sident. 

La Regnie looked at her with a thoughtful counter- 
nance, then putting on that contemptuous smile which 
was peculiarly his own, said ; " I see plainly you would 
trust more to your feelings, to your internal voice, than 
to that which is done before your eyes in proof of Oli* 
ver's guilt or innocence ; — if you are not terrified to en- 
ter the dismal abode of crime, or if it is not disagreea^ 
ble to you to behold the instruments of torture in all 
their dreadful variety, then shall the doors of the Con- 
ciergerie be open to you in the course of two hour*. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 61 

and this Oliver whose fate has awakened so much sym- 
pathy in your bosom shall be placed before you." 

De Scuderi could not indeed convince herself of the 
guilt of the young man. Every thing doubtless spoke 
against him ; no judge in the world with such convin- 
cing evidence could have acted otherwise than did La 
Regnie. But the picture of domestic happiness which 
Madelena had drawn in such glowing colours, put to 
flight every evil suspicion, and she would rather sub- 
mit to account the whole a mystery, than believe in a 
thing against which her inward feelings were opposedr 

She determined to make Oliver repeat every thing 
that had happened on that fatal night, and as far as 
possible elicit a secret from him, which perhaps was 
kept back from the Judges, because it seemed useless 
for them to take any farther trouble in the matter. 

Arrived at the Conciergerie, De Scuderi was con- 
ducted into a large well lighted apartment, and not 
long afterwards the clanking of heavy chains struck 
her ear. It was Oliver Brusson that was approach- 
ing. But no sooner had he entered the door than 
Madame de Scuderi fell down insensible upon the floor. 
When she recovered, the young man had disappeared. 
She then earnestly desired that her carriage might be 
ordered, that she might quit that instant the abode of 
crime and wretchedness. Alas ! at the first glance 
she had recognised in Oliver Brusson the young man, 
who upon the Pont-neuf had thrown the letter into the 
carriage, and who had brought her the casket of jewels. 
Every doubt was now dispelled, La Regnie's frightful 
conjecture was but too well confirmed, that Oliver 
Brusson belonged to the band of murderers, and he 
must have murdered his master also ! And Madelena ? 
Never had she been so deceived by her feelings, and 
tortured by an infernal power, of whose existence she 
had formed no conception ; de Scuderi began to de- 
spair of truth itself. She gave way to the terrible sus- 
6 



62 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

picion that Madelena might have been a sworn parti- 
cipator in the dreadful deed of blood ; and as it is but 
too common for the human mind, when an image is 
presented to it to seek out and find suitable colours to 
paint that image clearer and clearer r so de Scuderi 
found from the consideration of every circumstance of 
the deed, and from the minute features of Madelena's 
behaviour, but too much to awaken suspicion* Thus 
many a thing which at first is deemed a proof of in- 
nocence and purity, becomes the certain mark of cun- 
ning baseness and studied hypocrisy. Those heart- 
rending cries — those bitter tears might well flow from 
a deadly anxiety, not at the prospect of seeing her be- 
loved die — but at seeing him fall by the hand of the 
executioner. She determined to shake from her neck 
the serpent which she was fostering in her bosom, and 
with this resolution stepped out of the carriage. 

On entering the chamber Madelena met her and 
threw herself at her feet. The heavenly eyes of the 
girl, a cherub could not have sent up a look of greater 
affection, were directed to de Scuderi ; her hands were 
folded across her palpitating bosom, and with a voice 
indicative of the most heartfelt anxiety, inquired whe* 
ther there was any hope or consolation. 

De Scuderi drawing herself up and giving to the 
tones of her voice as much earnestness and composure 
as was possible, replied, " Go ! go ! console the mur- 
derer who now awaits the rightful punishment of his 
shameless crimes ; — may the holy virgin prevent that 
you yourself be not doomed to suffer the misery of an 
ignominious death !" 

" Alas ! alas ! all is now lost ! — all is now lost !" and 
with these heart-piercing words, Madelena fell sense- 
less on the floor. De Scuderi ordered Maria to take 
care of the girl, while she herself retired to a distant 
apartment. With a heart completely severed from 
every thing earthly, de Scuderi wished no longer to 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 63 

live in a world full of such deceit. She complained 
that fate had first granted her in bitter scorn so many 
years, to strengthen her belief in truth and virtue, and 
then annihilated the lovely picture which had lighted 
her through life. 

She heard Maria carry away Madelena, who cried 
piteously amid tears and sobs, " Alas ! and she too — 
she too has been deceived by the frightful circum- 
stances. Wretch that I am— poor unfortunate Oli- 
ver !" 

The tones of her tender voice pierced the heart of 
de Scuderi, and again the presentiment of some hidden 
secret awoke in her bosom, and made her still hope 
in Oliver's innocence. Oppressed with contending 
feelings, the worthy lady exclaimed almost in a frenzy ; 
" What spirit of hell has entangled me in this dreadful 
business, which doubtless will cost me my life ?" 

At that moment, Bupiistc, pale and agitated, entered 
the apartment, with the news that Desgrais was below. 
Since the horrible trial of La Voisin, the appearance 
of Desgrais at a house, was a certain forerunner of 
some serious accusation; thence arose Baptiste's alarm, 
which de Scuderi observing, said with a smile : " What, 
Baptiste, has Desgrais to do with you ? Nothing sure- 
ly ! — The name of de Scuderi, was it found in the list 
of La Voisin ?" 

" Oh for heaven's sake," replied Baptiste, trembling 
through every limb ; how can you speak so now ? — 
for Desgrais — the fearful Desgrais does every thing so 
secretly, so quietly — he appears also to wish to see 
you immediately !" 

" Well !" said de Scuderi, " Baptiste, let him be ad- 
mitted, — lead in immediately the man who is so terrible 
in your eyes, but whose appearance never can give me 
the slightest concern." 

" The President," said Desgrais, as he entered the 
apartment, " the President La Regnie sent me to you 



64 MADAME DE SCUDERI, 

with a request, upon the fulfilment of which, he dare 
hardly hope, were he not fully acquainted with your 
worth and courage, it is to lay in your hands the last 
means of bringing a base transaction to light ; you 
have already I understand taken a part in the process 
which at present keeps the Chambre Ardente and all 
Paris in breathless anxiety. Oliver Brusson since he 
saw you, is half mad. He now appears to make con- 
fessions, but still swears by heaven and all the saints, 
that he is altogether guiltless of Cardillac's murder, 
although he would willingly suffer death, which, he 
says, he has by his conduct deserved. Remark, my 
lady, that this last avowal evidently points to other 
crimes, which bear upon him. As yet, all our endea- 
vours have been fruitless, and even threats of torture 
have elicited nothing. He has beseeched and implored 
us to procure him an interview with you. To you, — to 
you alone will he confess evcrj thing. Consent then 
to hear the confession of Brusson ?" 

"How?" exclaimed de Scuderi, considerably in- 
censed, shall I act as the organ of a blood-thirsty 
judge ? Shall I so abuse the confidence of an unfor- 
tunate man, to bring him to the scaffold ? — No, Des- 
grais ! Brusson may be a base murderer, yet I never 
could be capable of acting towards him in so shameful 
a manner. It is useless for me to receive secrets which 
must remain locked up in my bosom like a sacred con- 
fession." 

. "Perhaps," added the Lieutenant with a sly smile, 
" perhaps my lady your opinion might change when 
you had listened to the accused. Did you not yourself 
beseech the President to be humane ? — he is so, when 
he assents to the foolish wishes of Brusson, and thus 
seeks out the last means that are left him, ere he ap- 
lies the torture which has been long ready for him." 
Madame de Scuderi shrunk back involuntarily at 
t v ie mention of torture. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 65 

"Know," continued Desgrais, "know, most worthy 
lady, that you will not be required to enter even once 
those gloomy chambers which filled you with terror 
and abhorrence. In the stillness of the night, unknown 
to any one, shall Oliver Brusson be brought like a free 
man into your own house ; there without any witness- 
es, although well watched, can he without compulsion 
acquaint you with every thing which now presses upon 
his conscience. That you have nothing to fear from 
the wretched man I pledge my life ;— for he speaks of 
you with the tenderest affection and the most profound 
respect. He swears that his cruel fate by preventing 
him from seeing you sooner, has been the cause of his 
ruin, and has led him to look for nothing but immedi- 
ate death. It then remains with you to tell as much of 
what the young man discovers to you as is consistent 
with your own pleasure ; could any one expect more 
from you ?-" 

Madame de Scuderi with downcast eyes looked 
deeply thoughtful. It appeared to her as if she were 
now called by the higher powers of heaven to unravel 
a frightful mystery, — as if she could not extricate her- 
self from the wonderfully engrossing interests into 
which she was unconsciously betrayed. The decisive 
step was instantly taken, for she said with dignity, 
" heaven will give me understanding and firmness ; con- 
duct Oliver Brusson here, I will speak with him!" 



<>6 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Du bi9t 
Rein vor ihm, wie frischer Schnee ; 
Deine Heimath ist die Hoh\ 
Und der Strahl von ihrem Lichte 
Ruht auf deinem Angesichte ! 
Jungfrau, lass zu deinem Fussen 
Die geheime Schuld mich bussen, 
Hore mein Bekenntniss an ! 

Die Schuld, 

Pure art thou before him 
Ae is the drifted snow, thy home's on high, 
And now a beam of its refulgent light 
Plays on thy countenance — Virgin, let me now 
Expiate at thy feet, my secret guilt — 
Hear my confession, 

Mulner's Guilt 

As upon the memorable occasion, when Oliver Brus- 
son brought the casket of jewels, there was now heard 
a knocking at the street door of Madame de ScuderL 
about midnight. Baptiste, informed of the nightly vi- 
sitors, opened. An icy chill came over the worthy la- 
dy, when she ascertained from the soft steps and hollow 
murmurings that struck upon her ear, that the officers 
who brought the accused, were dividing themselves 
among the various passages of the house. 

At length, the door of the apartment was softly 
opened, Desgrais entered, behind him Oliver Brusson, 
unfettered and in respectable attire. "Here, most no- 
ble Lady," said the lieutenant, "is Brusson!" and left 
the room. 

The young man fell down upon his knees before 
Madame de Scuderi, and in an imploring attitude, 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 67 

raised up his clasped hands to heaven, while floods of 
tears poured from his eyes. 

The worthy lady looked at him with a deadly pale- 
ness, incapable of pronouncing a single syllable ; for, 
at that moment there beamed through the features of 
the captive, even agitated as they were by distress, and 
bewildered by the most poignant sorrow, the expression 
of an honest heart. 

The longer de Scuderi' s eyes rested upon his coun- 
tenance, the more lively became the recollection of one 
whom she once tenderly loved, although she was una- 
ble now to recall either where or when. Fear forsook 
her instantly, she forgot that the murderer of Cardillac 
knelt before her ; and she said, with a voice full of that 
calmness and affection that was so peculiarly her own ; 
" Well Brusson, what have you to say to me ?" 

Oliver still kneeling, gave a sigh of profound sor- 
row and said, " Oh most kind, most worthy lady! is 
then every trace of recollection of me lost ?" 

De Scuderi looking at him still more narrowly, re- 
plied ; " that she had discovered a resemblance in him 
to a person whom she once loved, and that he might 
thank that resemblance for dispelling the horror of con- 
versing with a murderer, and of listening to him 
calmly." 

Brusson greatly agitated by these words, started up 
and retreated some paces, while he cast the most melan- 
choly look upon the ground. " Have you then," said 
he with a hollow voice, " Have you then entirely for- 
gotten Anne Guiot ? — her son Oliver, — the boy whom 
you so often fondled on your knee ? — 'tis he, 'tis he 
who now stands before you." 

" By all the saints!" exclaimed Madame de Scuderi, 
as she covered her face with her hands, and sank back 
upon the couch. She had great reason for being as- 
tonished. Anne Guiot, the daughter of a poor citizen, 
lived from her earliest years in the house of Madame 



68 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

de Scuderi ; there she was brought up and educated 
by her patroness, with all the care, and all the affection 
which the fondest mother could bestow upon a darling 
child. When she reached the budding spring of wo- 
manhood, a handsome and worthy youth called Claude 
Brusson, became enamoured of her. He was an ex- 
pert and clever watchmaker, and at that period found 
full and advantageous employment for his genius in 
Paris. Anne soon returned his love, and Madame de 
Scuderi seeing no reason to object to the marriage of 
her foster-daughter gave her consent. The young pair 
were united, — lived in the calm happiness of domestic 
comfort, and soon had their bond of bliss more firmly 
cemented by the birth of a lovely boy, the very image 
of his affectionate mother. De Scuderi made a per- 
fect idol of the little Oliver ; she tore him from his mo- 
ther for hours, nay for days to kiss and to fondle him, 
and it so happened that the boy lived almost entirely 
with her, and was even more pleased in her arms than 
in those of his mother. Three years passed over when 
the industry of the expert Brusson became so unpro- 
ductive, and his business decreased so much, that he 
found himself at last unable to support his family. 
Upon this he took a longing for his native city Geneva, 
and it so happened, that the little family went thither 
in spite of all the opposition of de Scuderi, who pro- 
mised them all the support it was in her power to be- 
stow. Anne wrote her foster-mother several times and 
then was silent, and the latter became convinced, that 
her new mode of life had obliterated all recollection of 
her former happy days. 

It was now exactly three and twenty years since 
Claude Brusson, with his wife and child, left Paris for 
Geneva. 

" Oh dreadful !" cried de Scuderi, after she had in 
some measure recovered from her astonishment, " Oh 



MADAME DE SCUDEltl. 69 

dreadful ! — art thou Oliver ? — the son of my ever dear 
Anne ? And now" — 

" Well," interrupted Oliver, calmly and firmly, " well 
most worthy lady, you could never have imagined that 
the boy whom you, like the fondest mother so tenderly 
fondled — whom you clasped to your bosom — into whose 
mouth you put sweetmeats— on whom you bestowed 
the most endearing names, should, when ripened into 
manhood, have stood before you accused of the most 
frightful murder. 'Tis true I am not free from all re- 
proach ; the Chambre Ardente may with perfect jus- 
tice convict me of a crime, but as I hope to die happy 
and to gain heaven, though it be by the executioner's 
hand, I am free of every bloody stain,— it was not by 
my hand — it was not by my hand the unfortunate Rene 
Cardillac fell!" At these words Oliver was seized 
with a trembling fit ; de Scuderi in silence pointed to a 
seat which was close to him, upon which he slowly sat 
down. 

" I had time enough to prepare myself," continued 
he, "for this interview, which I considered as the last 
favour granted to me by an appeased God, and to gain 
also as much calmness and recollection, as was neces- 
sary to relate to you the story of my frightful and un- 
heard of misfortunes. Have compassion on me, and 
listen to me calmly, lest the discovery of a dreadful se- 
cret may overpower you with surprise, and fill you with 
horror. Oh that my poor father had never left Paris ! 
My earliest recollections of Geneva are associated with 
the tears of my disconsolate parents — with their com- 
plaints, which I did not comprehend, but which often 
drew tears from my eyes. At a later period I was fully 
convinced of the oppressive indigence, and deep mise- 
ry in which my parents lived. My father was disap- 
pointed in all his hopes. Borne down by sorrow and 
by suffering, he died at the very moment he had suc- 
ceeded in getting me bound an apprentice to a gold- 



70 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

smith. My mother spoke much of you— she wished to 
inform you of every thing, but that Bashfulness which 
so frequently arises from poverty, interfered ; that, and 
probably false shame, which often gnaws at the broken 
heart, prevented her from putting her determination 
into effect. A few months after the death of my fa- 
ther, my mother followed him to the j^rave." 

" Poor Anne ! poor Anne !" exclaimed Madame de 
Scuderi, overpowered by grief. 

" Thanks and praise be to the eternal powers in hea- 
ven that she is gone and not allowed to behold her be- 
loved son fall by the hand of the executioner, branded 
with infamy !" Oliver uttered these words in a loud 
voice, while he threw a wild and terrible look on high. 
A noise was now heard below as if persons were walk- 
ing up and down. " Ha ! ha!" said Oliver, with a 
bitter smile, " Desgrais awakes his comrades as if I 
could escape hence. But to proceed — I was hard 
wrought by my master, but in spite of this I laboured 
as much as possible, and very soon surpassed him in 
expertness. A stranger happened to enter our work- 
shop one day to purchase a trinket ; a beautiful neck- 
lace which I was just in the act of finishing struck his 
fancy, he clapped me upon the shoulder with a friendly 
look while eyeing the ornament, and said, ' Aye! aye ! 
my young friend, that is indeed a very excellent piece 
of work. I know not in fact any one that could sur- 
pass you but Rene Cardillac, who is assuredly the first 
goldsmith in the world ; to him you should go, with 
delight he will give you employment, for it is only one 
like you that could assist him in his cunning workman- 
ship ; and it is only from him that you ever can learn any 
thing more of your profession ! ' The words of the stran- 
ger sank deep into my soul. I could no longer re- 
main in Geneva, a strong impulse urged me to leave 
it, and at length my master after many urgent solicita- 
tions consented to let me go. I came to Paris. Rene 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 71 

Cardillac received me coldly and harshly, but I told 
him I would not leave him till he gave me something 
however trifling to execute. I got a small ring to 
make; when I brought back the finished trinket to 
him he stared at me with his sparkling eyes, as if he 
would look through my very soul, and then said: 
* Thou art a clever expert fellow, — Thou mayest come 
and help me in my workshop ; I will pay you well, you 
will be quite contented!' Cardillac kept his word. 
I had already passed several weeks in his house with- 
out having seen his daughter, who if I mistake not was 
residing in the country with one of her aunts. She 
came home at last however. Oh thou everlasting 
power in heaven, what has happened to me since first 
I saw that fair angelic form ! Did ever man love wo- 
man half so fondly as I do thee ? and now — oh Made- 
lena, Madelena!" 

Oliver could not proceed farther for tears of sorrow ; 
he held his hands before his face and sobbed most pite- 
ously ; but at length after struggling against the deep 
distress that afflicted him, he continued his narrative. 

" Madelena looked upon me with friendly eyes. She 
came oftener and oftener into the workshop ; her love 
was evident, and I observed it with unspeakable joy. 
So narrowly however were we watched by the father, 
that a few stolen squeezes of the hand were the only 
tokens' we could give each other of the decision of our 
hearts. Cardillac appeared to remark it not. I thought 
it would be best, first to win his favour by becoming a 
proficient in my profession, before asking permission 
to woo his daughter. One morning when I was in the 
act of commencing my day's labour, Cardillac entered 
the workshop with anger and contempt painted on his 
gloomy countenance, and said, ' I will not require your 
assistance any longer, — leave my house this very in- 
stant, and let me never again see you within its walls. 
Wherefore I can no longer suffer you to remain here 



72 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

is not necessary for me to tell you, nor for you to 
know !' I wished to speak, but he seized me with his 
powerful hands and pushed me out of the door with a 
force that made me fall down and bruise both my head 
and limbs. 

"Insulted and torn with the most gnawing grief I 
quitted the house, and found at last at the extremity of 
the Faubourg St. Martin, a kind acquaintance who took 
me into his room. I could find no consolation— »no 
rest. During the night I slipt out to Cardillac's house, 
thinking that Madelena might hear my sighs and my 
complaints; that she might perhaps be desirous of 
speaking to me in secret from the window. Many des- 
perate plans floated in my brain, to the execution of 
which I hoped to persuade myself. 

" To Cardillac's house, in the Rue Nicaise, is at- 
tached a high wall with recesses, in which stand seve- 
ral old half patched statues. One night as I stood 
close by one of those figures and was gazing up to- 
wards the windows of the house, which look into the 
court, which is enclosed by the wall, I discovered a 
light in the Goldsmith's workshop ; it was midnight, 
and Cardillac never used to be awake at that hour, — 
indeed he was always accustomed to go to bed at nine. 
My heart beat with anxious expectation. I thought 
that some accident might probably open a path to my 
entering the house. But while I yet looked the light 
disappeared J I pressed myself close to the statue, 
which was placed in one of the recesses, but was soon 
glad to scramble back not a little terrified, when I felt 
an opposing pressure — In fact when I felt the figure 
become as if alive. By the glimmering light of a 
starry night, I observed that the statue moved slowly 
round, and from behind it there slipt out a dark figure, 
who crossed the street with a light step. I sprang to- 
wards the statue, but it stood as at first, quite close to 
the wall. Unconsciously, or rather like one impelled 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 73 

by some inward power, I followed with cautious step 
the strange figure. When near to a picture of the 
Virgin, the figure turned round, and the full light of 
a bright lamp which burned before the representation 
of the holy mother, having illuminated the countenance 
of the mysterious being, discovered to my astonished 
eyes Rene Cardillac ! An inexpressible anxiety, an 
unaccountable tremour took possession of me, and, as 
if bound by some magic spell, I felt obliged to move 
on towards the ghost-like wanderer ; in truth, although 
it was not then full moon, I considered my master as 
an enchanted sleep-walker. Cardillac, however, dis- 
appeared at a side in the deep shadow of the street* 
From a low but well-known hem, I perceived that he 
had entered into the gateway of a house. What does 
this betoken, what would he do ? thought I ; and while 
thus questioning myself, full of astonishment, and 
pressing close to the houses lest I should be seen, a man 
sporting the gayest feathers and most glittering spurs 
approached, whistling and singing. Like a tyger upon 
his prey, Cardillac leapt from his concealment upon 
the unthinking cavalier, who, in the twinkling of an 
eye, fell groaning to the ground. I sprang forward 
with a cry of horror. Cardillac was above the man, 
who lay stretched upon the street, — Master Cardillac, 
what do you do, cried I, in a loud voice ; — most accursed 
of hell, bellowed the Goldsmith, while he rushed past 
me like a flash of lightning, and disappeared. 

" Almost petrified I approached the wounded man 
and knelt down by his side, thinking that he yet might 
perhaps be saved ; but alas, every spark of life had 
fled. In my anxiety and consternation I did not per- 
ceive that the Police had for several moments surround- 
ed me : ? Another struck down by those devils — aye, 
aye, young man what are you doing here ? — are you 
one of the band ? away with him !' was the general ex 
clamation^and I was instantly laid hold of. So much 

7 



74 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

was I thunderstruck, that I had scarcely strength to 
stammer out that I was incapable of perpetrating such 
a frightful deed, and that they should allow me to go 
in peace. Upon this, one of the party held up a lan- 
tern to my face, and exclaimed with a laugh, l Why 
this is Oliver Brusson, the goldsmith's assistant, he who 
works with the honourable and respectable Master 
Rene Cardillac — aye ! aye ! he would indeed murder 
people upon the streets ? Look at me straight in the 
face — is it really the mode of murderers to lament over 
the corpses of their victims, and aliow themselves to be 
caught? — How was it young man? Tell it boldly !' 
' Straight before me,' said I, ' a man sprung out upon 
the person there, struck him down, and ran quick as 
lightning from the spot. I gave a loud cry, and then 
approached, anxious to see whether the person fallen 
could yet be saved.' ' 'Twas impossible,' cried one 
of the Police, who was raising u^ the body, ' he is 
dead, the dagger has gone through his heart as usual.' 
' The devil it has,' said another, ' we have arrived 
again, like yesterday night, a moment too late.' Upon 
this they departed with the corpse. 

" How I came to myself I cannot well tell ; I felt 
as if I had just awakened, and was wondering at the 
foolish imposture. — Cardillac— the father of my Made- 
lena ! — a base murderer ! — I fell down powerless at 
the thought upon the stone steps of a house. The 
morning by degrees grew lighter ; an officer's hat, rich- 
ly ornamented with feathers lay before me on the pave- 
ment. Cardillac' s bloody deed, executed upon the 
very spot where I sat, rose up to my mind, and in ter- 
ror I ran off. 

u Bewildered and almost senseless, I sat in my 
chamber, when the door opened, and Rene Cardillac 
stepped in. * For heaven's sake ! what do you want ?' 
cried I to him. Without taking the least notice of 
what I said, and smiling with a calmness and light- 



MADAME DE SCUDERX. 75 

Iteartedness which increased my inward horror, he ap- 
proached me* Having drawn towards him an old 
broken stool, he sat himself down close by the straw 
mattress upon which I had thrown myself, and from 
which I was unable to rise. ' Well Oliver,' began he, 
how are you, poor young man ? I erred indeed when 
I drove you from my house. I feel the want of you at 
every turn. Even now I have a piece of work, which 
I cannot completely finish without your assistance. 
What do you think of coming again to my workshop ? 
— You are silent ? yes, I know I have displeased you 
— I will not conceal that I felt angry at you for your 
love affair with my Madelena ; but now that I have 
weighed the matter well, I am convinced, that consi- 
dering your ability, your diligence, and your honesty, 
I could not wish for a better son-in-law than yourself. 
Come then with me, and try whether you will be able 
to gain my daughter's love*' 

" Cardillac's words pierced my very soul ; I trem- 
bled at his depravity, and could not utter a syllable. 
* Thou tremblest,' continued he, in a sharp tone of 
voice, while he stared at me with his sparkling search- 
ing eyes ; * thou tremblest — perhaps thou canst not 
go with me to-day, thou hast other things before thee. 
Thou wouldst mayhap pay a visit to Desgrais, or al- 
low thyself to be conducted into the presence of Ar- 
genson or La Regnie. Take care young man, that 
the deed which thou wouldst communicate and lay to 
the charge of another, do not fall upon your own 
head and destroy thee !' The words gave to my 
deeply loaded soul an immediate vent. ' Thou may- 
est' said I, ' thou mayest do so, who art acquainted 
with such frightful deeds — I have nought to do with 
them!' i Assuredly,' continued Cardillac, 'you did 
yourself honour by working with me — with me, the 
most celebrated master of his time, aiid above all, 
highly respectable not only for his ability, but for his 



76 MADAME DE SCUDERI, 

honesty ; every base calumny would only fall witli 
l-edoubled force upon the head of the calumniator. 
But as to Madelena, I must now confess that it is for 
her sake I now urge you to return. She loves you 
with a w T armth which I could not have expected from 
such a girl. At the moment of your departure she 
fell at my feet, clasped me round the knees, and con- 
fessed amid a thousand tears, that she could not exist 
without you. I thought she only acted like others of 
her sex in love, who swear eternal affection, and yet 
look upon the next fair face with as much pleasure as 
on that of their lost lover. But my Madelena lan- 
guished and fell sick, and when attempting to talk her 
out of the mad idea, she blubbered out your name at 
least an hundred times. What could I do then, if I 
would not leave her to despair ? Yesterday evening I 
told her I would grant her all her wishes, and would 
bring you back to-day. During the night her cheeks 
have blossomed like the rose, and she now awaits your 
arrival in all the anxious ecstacy of love's warm pas- 
sion.' 

" May the eternal powers forgive me, I know not 
how it happened, but almost in the twinkling of an 
eye, I stood again in the house of the goldsmith — 
heard Madelena sob out, 'Oliver — my Oliver — my 
beloved — my husband — take me in your arms — press 
me to your bosom,' — while I in the overflow of the 
greatest joy, swore by the virgin and all the saints, 
never, never more to leave her !" 

Trembling at the recollection of that decisive mo- 
ment, Oliver was obliged to pause. De Scuderi, filled 
with horror at the deed of a man whom she had deem- 
ed propriety — nay virtue itself, exclaimed "-'Tis horri- 
ble ! — Rene Cardillac belonged to the band of murder- 
ers who have so long made our good city their dread- 
ful den ?" 

" What do you say my lady," said Oliver, "to the 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 77 

band ? — There is no such band. It was Cardillac 
alone, who with base activity sought out and found his 
unfortunate victims. That he did it alone, lay the se- 
curity whereby he continued his operations, and the 
insurmountable difficulty of ever gaining any trace of 
the murderer !" 



CHAPTER IX. 

A devil, a bora devil, on whose nature 
Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains 
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; 
And as with age his body uglier grows, 
So his mind cankers. 

Shakspeare 

Oliver Brusson after a short pause proceeded 
thus: " The remainder will clear up the mystery that 
hangs over the basest but at the same time the most 
unfortunate of men. The situation in which I stood 
with my Master made us both think little. The step 
was taken. I could not now retreat. At the same 
time it appeared to me as if I had been Cardillac's as- 
sociate in murder, and it was only in Madelena's love 
I forgot the inward pain which afflicted me, it was 
only in her presence I could ever succeed in blotting 
out from my memory the traces of that nameless 
crime. 

" I wrought daily with the old man in his workshop, 
but was incapable of looking him in the face, and 
could scarcely utter a word from the horror which the 
neighbourhood of such a dreadful character naturally 
produced; a man who, although fulfilling all the vir- 
tues of the most affectionate father, and of the most 
worthy citizen in the day, could practise during the 
wight the most frightful of crimes, Madelena, the 



78 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

pious, angelic child regarded her father with a love 
almost approaching to idolatry, Oh ! my heart was 
deeply pierced indeed, when I thought that if ever 
vengeance should fall upon the masked hypocrite, and 
she be left to be beguiled by the hellish craft of Satan, 
how frightful would be her wild despair ! That oft 
recurring thought sealed my lips, and I was obliged 
to bear about with me the death of the criminal. Not- 
withstanding all I learnt from the Police, still Cardil- 
lac's misdeeds, his motive and his mode of acting 
appeared a riddle. This however was soon made 
clear enough. 

" It happened one day while Cardillac was laugh- 
ing and joking over his work, (a manner of his which 
even more than any other tended to excite my horror,) 
he became all of a sudden completely abstracted. The 
ornament which he was labouring at, was thrown hur- 
riedly aside, so that the stones and pearls rolled out 
upon the floor, and starting up from his seat, he said in 
an emphatic voice : ' Oliver ! we cannot thus remain 
any longer,-— this suppressed demeanour to me is un- 
bearable !— What all the sly cunning of Desgrais and 
his associates were unable to discover, Fate has placed 
in thy hands. Thou hast seen me at my nightly 
work, a work to which my evil star impels me — all 
resistance is vain. — It was thy evil star too that 
made thee follow me, that enveloped thee in an invi- 
sible mantle, that gave lightness to thy footsteps, so 
that I who can see as clearly in the darkest night as 
the ravenous tyger, and who can discover the least 
noise, though at some streets distance, even the very 
hum of an insect, did not remark thee. It was thy 
evil star that led thee to become my associate. It 
would be treason as thou now standest not to think so, 
therefore thou shalt know every thing.' — ' No longer 
shall I be thy associate, hypocritical villain !' would 1 
have cried out, but the inward horror which the words 



MADAME DE SCUDERI, 79 

of Cardillac had conjured up completely stopped my 
utterance — Instead of words I gave but an unmeaning 
cry. Cardillac sat down again upon his workstool ; 
he wiped the sweat from off his brow, and appeared 
so much agitated with the remembrance of the past as 
to be almost unable to collect himself; at length he 
began thus : ' Wise men speak much of the strange 
impressions many women receive when encient, and of 
the wonderful influence of such impressions upon the 
child which they carry in their womb. A very singu- 
lar story of this kind was told of my mother. She 
had gone when scarcely more than a month with child 
of me, along with some other female acquaintances to 
a splendid fete which was given at the Trianon at 
Versailles. There, her eye fell upon a Cavalier in 
Spanish attire, who wore a splendid chain of precious 
stones suspended from his neck, and from which she 
tried in vain to avert her eye. Her whole existence 
was an ardent desire for precious gems, which appear- 
ed to her above all earthly possessions. The Cava- 
lier who now so much attracted her by the splendour 
of his jewels, had several years previous to my mother's 
marriage made attempts upon her virtue, but these she 
had resisted with horror. Her eye instantly recog- 
nised him, but instead of appearing to her as he had 
once done, the basest of men, he now seemed, in the 
brilliant glow of the sparkling diamonds to be a being 
of an higher order, nay the perfection of beauty itself 
The Cavalier remarked the longing and passionate looks 
of my mother. He flattered himself that he might be 
more fortunate than formerly, and took means of ap- 
proaching her, and wileing her away from her friends 
to a more secret and solitary part of the garden. 
There, with all the ardour of a fond lover he clasped 
her in his arms — my mother seized upon the beautiful 
necklace, but at that very instant the Cavalier fell and 
drew my mother along with him to the ground, Whe- 



80 MADAME DE SCUDERI* 

ther it was from the fall or from any other cause, I know 
not ;■ it is enough to say, that he at this moment breath- 
ed his last. Vain were my mother's exertions to ex- 
tricate herself from the stiffened grasp of the corpse. 
His hollow eyes were directed to her in lifeless fixed- 
ness. Death grappled with her powerfully and held 
her to the ground. Her piercing cries for help at last 
reached the ears of her distant friends, who ran towards 
the spot and released her from the arms of her frightful 
lover. This horrible event threw my mother into a 
dangerous illness. I was given up for lost, but she 
recovered, and her delivery was more fortunate than 
any one could have anticipated. But the terror of 
that frightful moment had affected me. My evil star 
had risen and enkindled within me one of the strangest, 
and most destructive of passions. From my earliest 
years, glittering diamonds and golden ornaments were 
above all things valuable in my eyes. It was consi- 
dered by all only a common childish inclination, but 
it soon showed itself something else, for when merely 
a boy, I stole every jewel and every piece of gold I 
could lay my hands upon. Like the ablest connoi- 
seur, I knew from instinct an artificial from a real 
gem ; the latter only had power to entice me, artificial 
stones and common trinkets I allowed to lie untouch- 
ed. This innate desire my father tried to weaken and 
subdue by many dreadful chastisements ; but as I still 
busied myself with gold and precious stones, I was 
turned to the profession of a goldsmith. I laboured at 
it with delight and assiduity, and soon became the first 
master of the art. A period now began in which my 
natural impulse so long subdued broke forth with new 
power, and increasing in strength, monopolized my 
very being. No sooner had I finished a set of orna- 
ments, than I fell into a state of discomfort and restless- 
ness which robbed me of sleep — health — nay the very 
love of existence itself. The person for whom I had 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. §i 

wrought stood like a spectre, day and night, before 
me, decorated with my ornaments, and a voice whis- 
pered in my ear, < they are yet thine, — they are yet 
thine — take them, what has the dead to do with dia- 
monds !" I listened inwardly, and lent myself to the 
arts of private robbery. I had an easy access to the 
houses of the great, and I took advantage of every op- 
portunity — no lock withstood my ingenuity, and very 
soon all the ornaments which I had made were again 
in my possession. But at length even that, would not 
allay my restless passion, a deep internal voice attract- 
ed my attention, and tauntingly said, ' Why should 
mortal man wear thy jewels ?' I know not how it 
happened, but I threw a look of inexpressible hatred 
upon those for whom I had finished any ornament. 
Yes ! in the deepest recesses of my heart there raged 
a desire to murder those before whom I even trembled* 
About that time I purchased this house. I had come 
to complete the business with the proprietor, and in 
this very room we sat mutually pleased with the con- 
cluded bargain, and drank a flask or two of wine to- 
gether. It was night, and I was anxious to depart 
when my landlord said, ' Hark ye Master Rene, before 
you leave me I must make you acquainted with a se- 
cret in this house ;' upon that he unlocked a cabinet 
which is constructed in the wall, slipped aside the back 
of it, entered into a small apartment, and then bent 
down and raised a trap door. Through this we de- 
scended a steep and narrow stair, reached a small 
gateway which he unlocked, and then stepped into the 
court. The old man afterwards proceeded towards 
the wall, pushed aside an almost invisible piece of 
projecting iron, and immediately a portion of the en- 
closure moved round, so that a man could easily slip 
through the opening and get to the street. You must 
see sometime or other, Oliver, this artful contrivance, 
which th£ cunning monks of the cloister which once 



82 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

stood here evidently had erected to enable them to 
steal out unperceived. It is made of wood, but from 
without is plastered over and painted, and in front of 
the opening is placed a wooden statue in imitation of 
stone, which turns round along with the portion of the 
wall on concealed pivots. Gloomy thoughts arose 
within me when I saw this accommodating mechanism, 
it seemed to me as if it would farther the execution of 
deeds of which I was myself yet unconscious. Just 
about that time I had delivered up to a gentleman of 
the court a very rich set of jewels, which I knew were 
intended for an opera-dancer. From that moment the 
death-tormentor had never left me — the spectre attend- 
ed on my every step — the whispering devil was at my 
ear! I rushed into my house — bathed in a bloody 
sweat of anxiety, and threw myself sleepless upon my 
bed. — -My. fancy pictured the man stealing to the dan- 
cer's house with my jewels. — In a frenzy I sprang up — 
threw my mantle around me— descended the secret stair — 
passed through the wall to the Rue Nicaise — he ap- 
proached — I fell upon him — he gave aery — but firmly 
held from behind I thrust a dagger through his heart 
—the jewels were mine ! This executed I felt a quiet 
— a satisfaction which I had never felt before* t The 
spectre had disappeared, and satan's voice was silent. 
I now discovered what my evil star had required — I 
must needs yield to it or perish ! Thou art now ac- 
quainted Oliver with my action and my impulse ! 
Think not because I must do what I cannot leave un- 
done, that I have completely forsworn every feeling of 
pity and compassion which so peculiarly belong to hu- 
man nature. You know what a painful task it has 
ever been to me to deliver up a set of jewels ; that for 
those whose death I would prevent, I never would do 
any work ; and knowing as I do that on the morrow, 
perhaps the spectre will call for, blood, I sometimes 
drive away with a blow the owner of the g#ns I have 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 83 

wrought, that they may be allowed to remain in my 
hands.' 

" Having said this, Cardillac conducted me into a 

secret vault and showed me his cabinet of jewels. The 

king himself does not possess a richer. Upon every 

set of ornaments was suspended a small ticket, marked 

for whom it was made, when it was got, and whether 

; by stealth, by robbery, or murder. ' On thy marriage- 

f day,' said the goldsmith, in a hollow, yet passionate 

voice, ' on thy marriage-day Oliver, thou shalt swear 

to me with thy hand upon the pictured cross of Christ, 

that when I die all of these valuables shall be reduced 

I to dust, by means which I shall then make known to 

you. I wish not that a human being, at least that Ma- 

delena and yourself should ever come into possession 

of what was purchased with blood.' 

" Imprisoned in this labyrinth of crime, torn alter- 
nately by love and horror — by joy and terror, I could 
only liken myself to the damned, on whom a compas- 
sionate angel mildly smiles, but whom satan holds 
firmly fixed within his iron claws, and who finds in the 
compassionate smile of the pious angel — a smile 
wherein is seen to play the very happiness of heaven, 
the most frightful remembrancer of his own misery ! I 
thought on flight — yea on suicide — but Madelena ! — 
blame me — blame me, most worthy lady, that I was 
too weak to subdue with power, a passion which en- 
chained me to crime — but may I not expatiate it by a 
shameful death*" 



84 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 



CHAPTER X. 






Yet think not that the wretch who finds the flaw, 

To baffle justice and elude the law, 

Unpunished lives ; he pays atonement due ; 

Each hour his malefactions rise to view, 

Vengeance, more fierce than engines, racks and wheels 

Unseen, unheard, his mangled bosom feels. 

What greater curse can earth or heaven devise, 

Than his, who, self-condemned, in torture lies ? 

From agony of mind who knows no rest, 

But bears his own accuser on his breast ? 

Murphy, 

" But," said Oliver Brusson, " Let me proceed to 
the conclusion of my narrative. One day, Cardillac 
returned home uncommonly gay. He fondled Made- 
lena, cast upon me the most friendly looks, drank with 
us at table a flask of most choice wine, such indeed a? 
he was only accustomed to give on high feast and holy- 
days, and sang and enjoyed himself exceedingly. Ma- 
delena left us, and I rose to go to the workshop. 4 Sit 
you down young man, — no more work to day, 5 said 
he, ' let us drink to the health of the most worthy arid 
most extraordinary lady in Paris.' Upon that I sat 
down, and he quaffing off a full glass said : i Tell me, 
Oliver, how these verses please you ; 

" Un amant qui craint les voleurs 
2Test point digne d'amour." 

" He then told me what had occurred in the apart- 
ments of Madame de Maintenon, between his majesty 
and you, and added ; that he had long respected you 
in a way he had done no other human being; that 
before you, possessed as you were of the g^test vir- 



tl 



MADAME DE SCUDERL 85 



tue, his evil star would grow pale and powerless, and 
though even wearing one of his most costly ornaments, 
there was in the wearer what would put to flight the 
base spectre that haunted him, and would lull to rest 
the thought of murder that continually assailed him. 
i Listen, Oliver, to what I have determined upon. A 
considerable time ago I should have finished for Henri- 
etta of England, a necklace and armlets, and had even 
looked out the gems for that purpose. The work suc- 
ceeded with me better than any other I ever tried, but 
it almost broke my heart when I thought of parting 
with the ornaments which were the very jewel of my 
soul. You have heard of the princess' unhappy death 
by murder. I kept the jewels and propose now to send 
them in the name of the persecuted band to Madame 
de Scuderi, as a token of my respect and gratitude. 
And moreover, that the worthy lady may receive the 
speaking token of her triumph, I shall hold Deagrais 
and his associates in the derision they deserve. You, 
Oliver, shall carry the ornaments to her house.' 

" As soon as Cardillac mentioned your name I felt 
as if a dark veil was torn asunder, and that the lovely 
picture of my happy childhood rose up before me in 
brilliant and variegated colouring — a strange confi- 
dence took possession of me, and I felt my soul irradi- 
ated with a beam of hope before which all the gloomy 
phantoms that afflicted me disappeared. 

" Cardillac was at no loss to discover the impression 
made upon me, and interpreted them in his own way* 
i I see,' said he, ' you approve of my intention. I con- 
fess to you truly that a deep inward voice, — very dif- 
ferent from that, which like an hungry and ferocious an- 
imal desires a bloody sacrifice, has commanded me to 
do this. My heart is often strangely afflicted — an in- 
ward restlessness — the fear of something dreadful, the 
horror of futurity, powerfully impresses me. It ap- 
pears to i* as if the deeds that have been executed 
8 



86 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

by my evil star by these hands, could not be laid to 
the account of my immortal soul, which had no share 
in the transaction. In such a state of mind I determi- 
ned upon finishing a beautiful diamond crown for the 
holy virgin in the church of St. Eustasius ; but an 
agony altogether incomprehensible overcame me as 
often as I attempted to commence the work, when at 
last I gave it up entirely. And now in sending the 
most beautiful ornaments I ever made to Madame de 
Scuderi, I feel as if in the deep humility of my soul, 
I brought an offering to Virtue and Piety, with pray- 
ers that would prove effectual.' 

" Cardillac, acquainted with the most minute parts 
of your history and motions, gave me every informa- 
tion regarding your house and household, and the 
manner I should deliver to you the jewels, which he 
himself enclosed in a handsome casket. I was delight- 
ed with the project, I thought Heaven itself shewed me 
the way through this outrageous act of the goldsmith, 
whereby to save myself from the hell in which a pro- 
scribed sinner was languishing. Contrary to Cardil- 
lac's wishes, I was anxious to meet with you, — as 
Anne Brusson's son, as your foster-child, I thought of 
throwing myself at your feet and making a full con- 
fession of every thing to you. Touched by the name* 
less misery which threatened the poor innocent Made- 
lena, you might have kept the secret towards its disco*- 
verer, while your great and acute mind would indu- 
bitably have found out sure means to prevent the re* 
petition of Cardillac's. base and villanous deeds, with- 
out making these deeds known to the world. Ask me 
not wherein these means existed. I know not truly ; 
but sure I am there lay within my soul a conviction, 
firm as my belief in the all-powerful support of the holy 
virgin, that you would save both Madelena and myself. 
You know my design was frustrated on that night 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 87 

when I so much alarmed your servant, but I lost not 
the hope of being more fortunate 01 another occasion. 
" It now happened that Cardiilac at once lost all 
his gaiety. He stalked about in deep distress, stared 
with fixed eyes on all around, muttered unintelligible 
words, — struggled with his hands as if in the act of 
repelling some frightful object, in short, his mind ap- 
peared to be again tortured with evil thoughts. He 
had been thus affected for a whole morning, when he 
sat down upon his workstool, but almost instantly 
sprang up again, and looking fearfully through the 
window, said : ' I wish Henrietta of England had worn 
my jewels !' The words filled mc with terror. I knew 
that his erring mind was again possessed by the mur- 
dering spectre, that the voice of Satan was again loud 
in his ears. I saw your life threatened by the demon. 
Had Cardiilac only once more his ornaments in his 
hands, thought I, you would be saved. The danger 
waxed greater and greater every moment. I met you 
on the Pont-neuf, pressed forward to your carriage, — 
threw you the letter which implored you to put the 
jewels, which you had received, immediately into the 
hands of the goldsmith. You came not — my anxiety- 
reached to the acme of despair ; Cardiilac spoke of 
nothing else for several days but costly jewels, which 
he said were continually before his eyes in his dreams. 
I could think of no other set of ornaments but yours, 
and it seemed but too evident that he was hatching some 
other assassination, which he intended putting into ex- 
ecution that very night. I was determined to save 
you though it should cost Cardiilac his life. So when 
the goldsmith, after the evening prayer, locked himself 
up as usual, I let myself down through a window into 
the court, slipped through the opening in the wall, and 
placed myself in the deep shadow of the houses, where 
I stood unobserved. I had not stood long before Car- 
diilac came out from behind the statue, and proceeded 



88 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

quietly along the street . I followed him — he went to 
the Rue St. Honore — my heart trembled, and Cardil- 
lac in an instant disappeared. I determined upon 
placing myself at your street-door. At that very mo- 
ment, as on the former occasion, when chance made 
me a witness of the goldsmith's murderous deed, there 
approached a gaily dressed officer, who passed close 
by me, without however observing me. A dark figure 
instantly sprang out and fell upon him. It was Car- 
dillac. I will prevent this murder, thought I, and gi- 
ving a loud cry, in two or three leaps I was upon the 
spot — not the officer, but Cardillac had fallen upon the 
ground amid the groans of death. The officer let his 
dagger fall, drew his sword from its scabbard, and 
thinking me an accomplice of the murderer, put him- 
self into an attitude of assault, when observing that I 
paid no attention to him, but was only taken up with 
the wounded man, he scampered off as fast as possible. 
The goldsmith was still alive, and after picking up the 
dagger, (which the officer had left,) and placing it in 
my girdle, I took him on my back and carried him 
carefully home, through the secret way to his work- 
shop. The rest is known to you. 

" You see most worthy lady that my whole guilt lies 
in not having betrayed the father of my Madelena to 
the judges, and thus have put an end to his crimes. 
Pure am I of the guilt of blood. No torture will 
draw from me the secret of Cardillac's misdeeds. I 
wish not, in defiance of the eternal power that veiled 
from the virtuous daughter, the frightful crimes of her 
beloved father, that the whole misery of the past should 
fall upon her, and with its withering power should blast 
her future life for ever — that now the world's vengeance 
should tear up the corpse from the yet loose earth that 
covers it — and that now the executioner should brand 
with infamy his mouldering bones. No ! the beloved 
of my soul shall bewail me as an innocent sacrifice. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 89 

Time will alleviate her sorrow, but unappeasable in- 
deed would that sorrow be, if it arose from the know- 
ledge of the frightful — the hellish deeds of a beloved 
•father!" 

Oliver was silent, and instantly a flood of tears 
gushed from his eyes ; he threw himself at the feet of 
Madame de Scuderi, and in an imploring voice cried ; 
" Are you now convinced of my innocence ? I am 
sure you are ! Have compassion on me, and say how 
it is with Madelena ?" 

Madame de Scuderi called to Maria the chamber- 
maid, and in a few moments Madelena was lying on 
the bosom of her affectionate and unfortunate Oliver. 
" Now all is weft — all is well, since thou art here," 
said Madelena, " I knew of a certainty that the worthy 
lady would save thee !" How often these sentiments 
were repeated it is useless to say, but Oliver forgot in 
the joy and exultation of that moment, his fate, the mi- 
series, and the death that now threatened him — he was 
free — he was happy. 

Both mourned over what they had already suffered 
for each other, in a manner that did not fail to draw 
tears from those that gazed at their affectionate 
meeting — they embraced each other again and again, 
and wept for joy that they had once more been permit- 
ted to see each other. 

Had not de Scuderi been already fully convinced 
of the innocence of Oliver Brusson, the scene that was 
transacted before her would of itself have amply 
proved it, for she beheld two individuals in the blessed- 
ness of the closest bond of love, forgetting the world, 
their misery, and all the nameless sorrows which 
threatened their future fortunes. "No!" exclaimed 
de Scuderi, " a pure heart alone is capable of such 
happy forgetfulness !" 

The bright beams of the morning had broken 
through the window of the apartment, when Desgrais 
3# 



90 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

tapped lightly at the door, to remind de Scuderi that 
it was now time to carry away Oliver Brusson — for if 
he was to return to prison unseen, that could not be 
much later accomplished. — The lovers were obliged to 
separate. 



CHAPTER XI. 

'Tvvas by this hand the hoary villain fell, — 
And know, instead of feeling dire compunction 
For the bloody act, I glory in the deed I 

Old Play. 

The gloomy foreboding with which Madame de 
Scuderi was impressed from the first entrance of Brus- 
son into her house, had now in a most frightful manner, 
assumed a living form. She saw the son of her belo- 
ved Anne innocent, but entangled in such a manner, 
that it appeared impossible to save him from a shameful 
death. She honoured the heroism of the young man, 
who would rather die laden with guilt, than betray a 
secret which must bring death upon his Madelena. In 
the whole range of possibility, she could find out no 
mode whereby to tear the unfortunate Oliver from the 
hands of the terrible Chambre Ardente ; but still she 
was determined to make every sacrifice to avert, or at 
least to suspend the fearful punishment which seemed 
ready to fall upon the head of the devoted prisoner. 

She tortured herself with many schemes, and even 
with plans which touched upon the marvellous, but 
they were all as quickly abandoned as conceived- 
Every glimpse of hope gradually disappeared, so that 
at length, she was almost on the brink of despair. But 
Madelena's unbounded girlish confidence ; the exalted 
manner in which she talked of her lover's exculpation, 
and of him embracing her as his affectionate wife, 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 91 

urged de Scuderi again to the task, convinced as she 
was of the justice of the cause. 

In order to do something, de Scuderi wrote a long 
letter to La Regnie, in which she told him, that Oliver 
Brusson had proved to her in the most satisfactory 
manner, his complete innocence of the death of Cardil- 
lac ; and that only the heroic resolution of carrying a 
secret to his grave, the discovery of which, would be 
alike destructive to innocence and virtue, now prevent- 
ed him from making a complete confession before the 
judges, — a confession which would not only free him 
from the horrible suspicion of having murdered his 
master, but of having belonged to the band of murder- 
ers. All that warm feeling and powerful eloquence 
could do, de Scuderi made use of to soften the hard 
heart of La Regnie. 

In the course of a few hours the president replied, 
that he was heartily pleased that Oliver Brusson had 
so completely succeeded with his able and worthy 
judge — but with respect to Oliver's heroic resolution, 
to carry with him a secret to the grave relative to the 
deed in question, he was extremely sorry that the 
Chambre Ardenie could not respect such heroism, but 
must endeavour to break it by the most powerful 
means. In three days he hoped to be in possession of 
the strange secret, which doubtless would tend to bring 
many wonderful and inexplicable deeds to light. 

De Scuderi knew too well what the frightful La 
Regnie meant by the means whereby he should break 
the heroism of Brusson. It was now evident that the 
torture hung over the head of this unfortunate man. 
In her extreme anxiety about his fate, it occurred to 
de Scuderi, that to gain some delay, the advice of a 
lawyer might be serviceable. Pierre Arnaud D'An- 
dilly was then the most celebrated advocate in Paris. 
His profound knowledge and acute understanding 
were only equalled by his integrity and virtue. To 



92 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

him de Scuderi went, and related every thing that was 
possible for her to do, without revealing Brusson's 
secret. She confidently believed, that D'Andilly 
would take up the cause of the innocent man with 
alacrity, but alas ! her hopes were most grievously 
disappointed. 

The advocate heard every thing with calmness and 
attention, and then said in B'oileaus words : " Le vrai 
peut quelque fois rfetre pas vraisemblable" — -He show- 
ed to de Scuderi, that there lay the strongest grounds 
of suspicion against Oliver, — that La Regnie's proce- 
dure could not in any way be called harsh or over- 
stretched ; nay was perfectly legal, and moreover, 
that he could not have treated the matter in any other 
manner without violating his duty as a judge. That 
he (D'Andilly,) could not conceive the least apology 
that could be offered for saving the accused from the tor- 
ture : Oliver could only prevent this by an open con- 
fession, or at least by a most minute relation of the 
circumstances attendant upon the murder of Cardillac, 
which might perhaps enable the Chambre Ardente to 
detect the guilty." 

" Then I must throw myself at the feet of his Majes- 
ty, and implore^ his favour," said de Scuderi, almost 
overpowered, and half-choked by tears and sobs. 

"Do not do so," cried D'Andilly, "do not do so, 
for heaven's sake ! — Reserve this last resource, for 
should that prove ineffectual, all is lost. The king 
will never pardon a crime of such a nature — the bitter 
reproaches of the endangered populace would prevent 
him. It is possible, that Brusson by the discovery of 
his secret or otherwise, may find means to take away 
the suspicion which is now so strong against him. It 
will then be the time to implore the pardon of the king, 
who unbiassed by the legal proceedings of the Chains 
bre Ardente, will consult his own inward conviction. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 93 

De Scuderi must needs yield to the experienced and 
skilful Advocate." 

While sunk in deep distress, thinking what could 
now be done to save the unfortunate Brusson from 
the torture and the scaffold. Madame de Scuderi was 
startled from her midnight musings by the entrance of 
Maria, who came to announce the count de Miossens, 
colonel of the king's guard, who anxiously wished to 
speak to her ladyship. 

" Pardon me," said Miossens, bowing with all mili- 
tary respect, " pardon me for troubling you at so late, 
and so unseasonable an hour ; we soldiers do not act 
like the world, but in two words I expect to be for- 
given — Oliver Brusson sent me to you !" 

De Scuderi much interested at what she now was 
about to discover, exclaimed : " Oliver Brusson— the 
most unfortunate of all mankind, what have you to do 
with him ?" 

" I thought," replied the colonel, with a smile, " that 
the name of your protegee would procure for me your 
ladyship's particular attention. The whole world is 
convinced of Brusson's guilt. I know that you are of 
a different opinion, which can only be founded on the 
asseverations of the accused. With me it is other- 
wise. Nobody can be better convinced of Oliver's in- 
nocence in regard to Cardillac's murder than myself." 

" Speak, oh speak," cried de Scuderi, while her 
eyes beamed with joy. 

" I," said Miossens, with emphasis, a It was I, my* 
self who struck down the old goldsmith in the Rue St. 
Honore at your very door !" 

"By all the saints," cried de Scuderi, "you — 
you ?" 

" And," continued the colonel, " I confess to you, 
I am proud of my deed ! Know that Cardillac was 
one of the basest and most hypocritical of villains, who 
during the night secretly robbed and murdered, and so 



94 MADAME DE SCUDERI* 

long escaped every snare that was laid. I cannot 
tell you how it occurred to me, but suspicion arose in 
my mind against the old villain ; when full of visible 
disquietude, he brought me a set of jewels which I had 
ordered, and when I found he had made most minute 
inquiries for whom these jewels were intended, and 
with the most skilful cunning, drew from my servants 
the hour I was in the habit of visiting a certain lady. 
It had long struck me that the unfortunate victims of 
this most horrible rapacity bore precisely similar 
wounds. I was therefore certain, that the murderer 
who could thus kill in an instant, with one dagger- 
stroke, must be a practised proficient, and could al- 
ways reckon upon its success. Be that as it may — I 
was determined that with me, the combat should be on 
equal terms. This made me make use of a mode of 
prevention, which was so simple, that I can hardly con- 
ceive how others did not avail themselves of it, and 
save themselves from the threatened murder. I wore 
merely a light breast plate under my vest — Cardillac 
attacked me from behind — he seized me with gigantic 
power, but the sure aimed blow glided off the iron, 
and at that moment I struck my dagger, which I had 
in readiness, into his heart." 

"And why," said de Scuderi, " and why are you 
silent ; why have you not informed the judges what 
you have done ?" 

" Permit me," said Miossens, " permit me again to 
remark, that though such a disclosure would not pre- 
cisely criminate me, it would still entangle me in the 
most frightful of processes ! Had La Regnie, fearing 
crime in every action, believed he had discovered it in 
me ; could I have accused the honest Cardillac, the 
model of piety and virtue, of the attempted murder ? — • 
If the sword of Justice had been directed against me, 
could I have parried its point?" 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 95 

" Certainly," cried de Scuderi, " your birth, your 
station in society." 

" Oh," continued the colonel, " think on the Mar- 
shal de Luxemburg, whom the mere circumstance of 
consulting Le Sage's horoscope brought down upon 
his head the suspicion of being a poisoner, and doomed 
him to the Bastile. No, by St. Dionysius, I would not 
trust an hour's freedom, or the very tip of my ear to 
the violent La Regnie, who would most willingly put 
his knife to our throats." 

" But," interrupted de Scuderi, " would you then 
bring the innocent Brusson to the scaffold ?" 

" Innocent," replied Miossens, " innocent ! — call you 
the accomplice of the villanous Cardillac innocent? 
The man who stood by him in his deeds of blood ?™ 
who has deserved death an hundred times ?~No, in- 
deed, in strict justice he should bleed ; and I make this 
discovery to you, most worthy lady, of my connection 
in the matter, merely that you may disclose my secret 
to the Chambre Ardente, without my being called to 
appear at all, and not that it should benefit in any way 
your protegee Brusson!" 



CHAPTER XII. 

My good Lord ! 
I crave a second grace for this approach ; 
But yet let not my humble zeal offend 
By its abruptness — all it hath of ill 
Recoils on me ; its good in the effect 
May light upon your head — could I say heart — 
Could I touch that, with words or prayers I should 
Recall a noble spirit which hath wandered ; 
But is not yet all lost. 

Byron's Manfred. 

Madame de Scuderi rejoiced to find that her con- 
Action of Brusson's innocence now rested upon sudh 



98 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

decisive evidence ; she did not hesitate to discover to 
Miossens every thing that she had learnt concerning 
Cardillac' s crimes, and at the same time to request him 
to accompany her to D'Andilly's. To the Advocate 
under the seal of secrecy all was told, that he might 
give counsel upon what ought to be done. 

D'Andilly, after Madame de Scuderi had detailed to 
him every particular, put several minute questions ; 
among many others he asked the Count Miossens, 
whether he was firmly convinced that he was attacked 
by Cardillac, and whether he could again recognise 
Oliver Brusson as the person who dragged away the 
body. The Colonel replied " That besides being cer- 
tain that it was the goldsmith who attacked me, I have 
also seen in La Regnie's possession the very dagger 
with which Cardillac was slain. That dagger is mine 
— distinguishable as it is by the elegant work of the 
handle. And as to the young man, as we only stood 
about a pace asunder, I observed every feature of his 
face, more particularly perhaps as his hat had fallen 
off. I would know him again any where." 

The Advocate looked in silence a moment on the 
ground and then said : " Brusson is not to be saved in 
<uiy common way from the hands of justice, he will 
for Madelena's sake not call her father an assassin — 
but yet though he should do so, and prove it by the 
discovery of the secret entrance to his house ; and by 
the collected treasures, still he would* be given up to 
death as an accomplice. The situation would be simi- 
lar, should the Count Miossens discover to the judges 
ihe whole affair with the goldsmith as it really hap* 
pened. Delay is all that can be obtained, and the Co* 
lonel should go to the Conciergerie, order Oliver Brus- 
son to be brought before him, and recognise him as 
the person who dragged away the body of Rene Car* 
dillac. He must then proceed to La Regnie, and say : 
* In the Rue St. Honore I saw a man murdered. I 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 97 

stood quite close to the body, when another man sprang 
forward, bent over the body, and while there were still 
evident signs of life, raised it upon his shoulders and 
then dragged it away. I have discovered that man to 
be Oliver Brusson. This evidence of the Count will 
coincide perfectly with repeated declarations of the ac- 
cused. Enough — the torture will be given up and 
farther inquiries will be made. Then it will be time to 
turn to the King. To your ingenuity Madame de 
Scuderi must this be left to be accomplished. In my 
opinion it would be well to discover the whole secret to 
his Majesty. By the evidence of Count Miossens, 
Oliver's confession will be supported, and this perhaps 
may be corroborated by a secret examination of Car- 
dillac's house. No law, but merely the King's deci- 
sion, founded upon inward conviction, (which may 
plead for mercy, even when the judge would be obliged 
to punish,) can accomplish what we want." 

Count Miossens followed implicitly what the advo- 
cate ordered, and every thing really happened as he 
had predicted. 

It w r as now necessary to go to the King, and this was 
the most difficult point to manage, for his Majesty had 
taken up such a horrid opinion against Brusson, whom 
he considered as the frightful murderer who had kept 
all Paris so long in anxiety and terror, that he always 
betrayed the greatest anger, when even the slightest 
allusion was made to the process. 

De Maintenon, faithful to her principle of not speak- 
ing to his Majesty, on subjects disagreeable to him, 
threw up all participation in the matter, and conse- 
quently the fate of Brusson was left wholly in the 
hands of de Scuderi. 

After a long meditation, she adopted the following 
project, almost as soon as it offered itself to her mind. 
She arrayed herself in a black mourning dress, deco- 
rated herself with the costly ornaments of Cardillac, 

9 



98 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

cast over her head a large black veil, and appeared thm 
in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, at the 
time the King was in the habit of going thither. The 
noble figure of the worthy lady in this imposing attire f 
had a majesty about it which did not fail to awaken 
profound respect, even from the idlers that are accus- 
tomed to occupy the antichambers of a palace. Every 
one stood back as she entered, and the King himself 
arose in great astonishment and advanced to meet her. 
The brilliant diamonds of the necklace and armlets struck 
his eye and he exclaimed : " By the holy Dionysius these 
are the ornaments of Rene Cardillac !" And then turn- 
ing to de Maintenon added with a pleasing smile: 
" See how our fair bride mourns for her lost lover." 

" Aye, gracious sire !" said de Scuderi, continuing 
the jest, " how would it become a sorrowful bride to 
be so splendidly arrayed ?— No, I have renounced the 
goldsmith entirely, and would, if possible, think no 
more about him, and trust that the horrid scene which 
was once transacted before me, when as a murdered 
corpse he was borne away by the officers of justice, 
may not often haunt my mind!" 

" How ?" asked the King, " how — you saw him then 
poor wretch ?" 

De Scuderi related in a few words, how accident 
(she did not mention Brusson's connection with it how- 
ever) had brought her before the house of the gold- 
smith, just as the murder was discovered. She paint- 
ed Madelena's wild affliction, the deep impression which 
the angelic child had made upon her, the manner by 
which she saved the poor girl, amid the plaudits of the 
people, from the licentious hands of Desgrais and his 
associates — with increasing interest she described the 
scenes she had with La Regnie — with Desgrais — with 
Oliver Brusson himself. The King, carried away by 
the power of de Scuderi's life-glowing descriptions, ob- 
served not that she talked of the hateful process, and 



MADAME DE SCUDERL 99 

of the horrid Brusson, was incapable of pronouncing 
a word, and could only give vent to his inward emotion 
by exclamations* Before he Was aware, wrapt up as 
he was with the unheard of deeds which he had disco- 
vered, and ere he was able to form his opinion of the 
matter, Madame de Scuderi had fallen at his feet, and 
was imploring mercy towards Oliver Brusson. 

" What are you doing?" cried he, while he seized 
her with both hands and raised her to her chair, " What 
are you doing ? you have taken me singularly by sur- 
prise ! That is indeed a dreadful story ! Who an- 
swers for the truth of the wonderful tale of Oliver 
Brusson ?" 

Madame de Scuderi instantly replied, " The decla- 
ration of Count Miossens — the examination of Cardil- 
lac's house— inward conviction — Madelena's virtuous 
heart, which discerns similar virtue in that of the un- 
fortunate prisoner !' ? 

The King was about to reply, when he was attracted 
by a bustle about the door of the apartment. Louvois, 
who had been transacting business in an adjoining 
apartment, looked in with a face that betokened asto- 
nishment and anxiety, which the King no sooner ob- 
served than he left the room* 

Both de Maintenon and de Scuderi considered this ] 
interruption dangerous, for once taken by surprise, the 
King might be cautious of falling a second time into 
such a situation. A few minutes had scarcely elapsed 
before his Majesty returned again to the apartment, 
walked hurriedly up and down the room, and at last 
stopping short, with his hands behind his back, opposite 
to where de Scuderi was sitting, said in a low voice, 
and with averted eye, " I should wish to see your Ma- 
delena !" 

De Scuderi no sooner heard the King's request than 
she replied : " My gracious Sire, what great — what 
infinite joy you are vouchsaving to the poor— *the un- 



100 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

fortunate girl — your nod is all that is necessary to sea 
the youthful Madelena at your feet," and tripping as 
quickly as her long mourning dress would permit, to the 
door of the chamber, cried out : " The king would see 
Madelena Cardillac," and then returned testifying her 
joy by a shower of tears. 

De Scuderi had anticipated such a favour, and had 
therefore brought Madelena along with her to the pa- 
lace. She had been left in the room of the Marchio- 
ness' female attendant, and waited there with a short 
petition in her hand which was drawn up by D'An- 
dffly. 

In a few minutes after the call of de Scuderi, Made- 
lena lay at the feet of the King. Anxiety, fear, bash- 
fulness, love, and sorrow, impelled the blood quicker 
and quicker through the veins of the trembling maid, 
Her cheeks glowed with the deepest purple — her eyes 
beamed through pearly tears, which, falling now and 
then through silken eyelashes, dropt upon her palpita- 
ting and snowy bosom. 

The King seemed struck with the singular beauty 
of this angelic creature. He raised her softly up, and 
then made a motion as if to kiss the hand he had sei- 
zed. He quitted it, however, and looked at the simple 
loveliness of Madelena with an eye which vainly 
struggled against tears, and betokened feelings of the 
deepest emotion. 

De Maintenon whispered to de Scuderi, "Don't 
you think the little creature bears a striking resemblance 
to la Valliere ? The King indulges the fondest recol- 
lections ; — your game is won !" 

Although Madame de Maintenon said this in a low 
voice, yet it appeared that his Majesty had noticed it. 
A blush suffused his face, his eye strayed towards the 
Marchioness, he read the petition which Madelena pre- 
sented to him, and said with a mildness indicative of 
favour ; " I can easily believe that you are convinced of 



MADAME DE SCUDERI, 101 

the innocence of your lover, but we must hear what the 
Chambre Ardente has to say to it !" 

A slight motion of the hand told Madelena to de- 
part, her lovely eyes swimming in tears. De Scuderi 
observed with alarm that the remembrance of la Val- 
liere which at the first appeared to be of advantage to 
her cause, had changed the King's mind as soon as de 
Maintenon had whispered that once well-loved name. 
Might it be that the monarch felt himself reminded of 
it in a manner somewhat indelicate- — that he was in the 
act of sacrificing stern justice at the shrme of beauty — 
or perhaps that it was with him as with the dreamer, 
who when harshly and suddenly awakened, sees the 
faery forms which he was just about clasping to his bo- 
som, thus lost and dissipated ? Perhaps he now saw 
before him no longer his lovely la Valliere, but only 
thought on the Sister Louisa de la Misericorde,* who 
grieved him with her piety and her penance ? 

In the meantime the declaration of Count Miossens 
before the Chambre Ardente had become knovvh, and 
as it is generally the case, that the populace are easily 
carried from one extreme to another, so it happened 
that those who at first had cursed Brusson as the 
basest of murderers, and who threatened to tear him 
in pieces, were now, even before he had been doomed 
to the scaffold, bewailing him as an innocent victim to 
a barbarous justice. For the first time the neighbours 
remembered his virtuous behaviour, — his fondness for 
Madelena — the respect — the fidelity— the honour which 
he testified to the old goldsmith. 

Crowds of people often appeared in a threatening at- 
titude before la Regnie's palace, crying ; " Give us 
Oliver Brusson — he is innocent ;" and not unfrequently 
threw stones at the windows, so that the President was 
under the necessity of calling in the assistance of the 

* hi Valliere's cloister-name in the nunnery of the Carmelite* 



102 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

Police to protect himself against the anger of the en- 
raged populace. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Hark ! a brisker, merrier glee ! 
The door unfolds,— 'tis he, 'tis he. 
Thus we lift our lamps to meet him, 
Thus we touch our lutes to greet him. 
Thou shalt give a fonder meeting ; 
Thou shalt give a tenderer greeting. 

MilmarCs Fall of Jerusalem, 

Several days had passed over without Madame dc 
Scuderi having heard any thing of Oliver Brusson's 
process. Almost hopeless she went to de Maintenon, 
who assured her that the king was totally silent on the 
matter, and never Upon any occasion betrayed the 
slightest remembrance of it. The Marchioness then 
asked with a singular sort of smile, what the little Val- 
Here was doing. From this de Scuderi was fully con- 
vinced that there raged a secret anger in the bosom of 
this proud lady, at the circumstance which could have 
produced such a powerful impression upon the King ; 
the magic power of which was far above her compre- 
hension. From de Maintenon therefore, de Scuderi 
could hope for nothing. 

At length with the assistance of d' Andilly, Madame 
de Scuderi discovered that the King had had a long in- 
terview with the Count Miossens ; that Bontems, his 
Majesty's most trusty attendant, had been in the Con- 
ciergerie and had spoken with the unfortunate prisoner, 
and that, in fine, Bontems, accompanied by several 
others, had one night visited the house of the gold- 
smith, ancRiad spent a considerable time in its examina- 
tion. Claude Patru, also the occupant of the lower 
.floor* vowed that he had heard footsteps during the 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 103 

whole night, and was certain that Oliver was there, as 
he thought he recognised his voice. It appeared also, 
that the King himself examined into the minute par- 
ticulars of the matter, but yet the long delay which he 
had shown of coming to a decision was unaccountable 
and dangerous. La Regnie probably was trying by 
all the means in his power to hold firmly in his 
clutches what was about to be torn from him. The 
very idea of such a thing destroyed the fair hopes 
that had arisen in the mind of Oliver's assiduous ad- 
vocate. 

A month had almost elapsed when de Maintenon 
said to de Scuderi that his Majesty wished to see her 
at the Palace in the evening. Her heart beat high ; 
she knew that Brusson' s case was now at length de- 
cided. She said so to the poor Madelena, who ear- 
nestly implored the Virgin and all the saints to awaken 
in the King's bosom a conviction of the innocence of 
her unfortunate lover. 

On her arrival at the Palace, it seemed however, 
that the King had forgotten the matter which she was 
so interested in, for, as on former occasions, he was ta- 
ken up entirely with that sort of light and gay converse 
which he was in the habit of holding with de Mainte- 
non and de Scuderi. He mentioned not a syllable of 
poor Brusson. Bontems, however, at length appeared, 
and approaching the King, said some words into his 
ear, but in such a low voice as to be unheard by both 
ladies. 

De Scuderi trembled throughout her whole frame. 
The King rose up and advancing towards her lady- 
ship, said with a look of great delight, " I wish your 
ladyship joy: your protegee, Oliver Brusson, is free." 

De Scuderi, unable to speak, and while tears flowed 
from her eyes, attempted to throw herself at the feet of 
the King. But he prevented her by saying, " Go, go, 
you shall be my Parliament Advocate^ and plead for 



104 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

my rights, for by the holy Diorysius, no man on earth 
could resist your eloquence ; but," added he, with more 
earnestness, " but. still remember that even those whom 
Virtue takes under its pure protection, may not be al- 
together secure from some base suspicion in the eyes of 
the Chambre Ardente, or any other court of justice in 
the world." 

De Scuderi at length found words, and expressed 
her thanks in the most glowing terms. The King in- 
terrupted her by saying that she herself awaited much 
more ardent acknowledgments than what he could ex- 
pect to receive from her, for at that very moment, pro- 
bably, the happy Oliver was clasping to his bosom his 
affectionate Madelena. 

"Bontems," cried the King, " Bontems shall pay 
your ladyship a thousand louis d'ors, which give in my 
name to the fair maid as her bridal gift. Let her be 
married to Brusson, the object of her choice, who 
scarcely deserves such a treasure, but let them quit Pa- 
ris immediately — this is my will." 

Maria ran to meet her mistress on the threshold, be- 
hind her was Baptiste ; the countenances of both were 
beaming with joy, and both exclaimed, " He is free! 
he is free ! — oh the happiness of the young couple." 

The delighted pair fell down at the feet of de Scu- 
deri. " I always felt that you, that you alone would 
save my husband," cried Madelena, while Oliver ex- 
claimed, " Oh yes, in you my confidence was firmly 
fixed, — my more than mother." 

The lovers kissed the hands of the worthy lady, 
amid tears of grateful acknowledgment; and then, 
embracing each other, declared that the celestial joy of 
that moment, had cancelled all the nameless sorrows of 
the past. 

In a few 4 a ) s they were united by the blessing of 
the priest ; and although it had not been the will of his 
Majesty that Brusson should quit the capital, he could 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 105 

not himself have remained in a place where every thing 
reminded him of the horrid period of Cardillac's crimes 
—-where accident might reveal a secret which he fain 
would conceal,— -a secret the public discovery of which 
would destroy the happiness of his future life. 

Immediately after the marriage, he set out with his 
young wife to Geneva, accompanied by the blessing of 
Madame de Scuderi. Richly endowed with Madele- 
na's bridal present, he devoted himself to business with 
singular diligence, and being besides, endowed with 
every civil virtue, he passed a life replete with happi- 
ness, and void of every care. The hopes which had 
deceived his father, were fully realised by him. 

Scarcely a year had passed since the departure of 
Brusson for Geneva, when a proclamation, signed by 
Harley de Chamvalon, Archbishop of Paris, and by 
Pierre Arnaud d'Andilly, Parliament Advocate, was 
issued, of the following contents, that a repentant sin- 
ner, under the seal of holy confession, had given up a 
rich robbed treasure of jewels and ornaments, that any 
one who, previous to the end of the year 1680, had 
been robbed in the open streets of any ornament, should 
immediately make themselves known to d'Andilly, and 
that provided the description of the lost jewel should 
agree with the ornaments now in his possession, and 
there be no objections to the legality of the claimant, 
the jewel would be instantly given up to its rightful 
owner. 

Many whose names were in Cardillac's list, as hav- 
ing been only knocked down and plundered^ resorted 
to the house of the Parliament Advocate, and received 
back, with no small astonishment, the ornaments which 
they supposed they had lost for ever. The rest were 
given to the treasury of the church of St. Eustasius* 



106 THE DISHONOURED, 



THE 

DISHONOURED IRRECLAIMABLE. 



BY 



FREDERICK SCHILLER. 



Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
And he that filehes from me my good name, 
Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
And makes me poor indeed. 

Shakespeare. 

There is not a chapter in the history of human na- 
ture, more instructive both to the heart and under- 
standing, than that which records our errors. Where- 
ever a great crime has been 'committed, a power pro- 
portionally great has been in operation ; and although 
the secret play of the passions may not be discoverable 
by the paler light of ordinary feelings, still in the case 
of more powerful excitement, it becomes loud, promi- 
nent, and colossal. The nice observer of human na- 
ture, who knows how far we may reckon on the ordi- 
nary operation of free will, and to what extent we may 
go in reasoning by analogy, will extract many a lesson 
of morality from this province of the science of mind* 

The human heart is so uniform and yet so complex, 
one and the same propensity or desire may operate in 
a thousand different forms and directions, produce a 
thousand contrary effects, appear variously compound- 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 1 01 

ed in a thousand different shades, and a thousand dis- 
similar characters and actions may proceed from it, 
even when the person in question suspects nothing less 
than the existence of such a connection. Should there 
ever rise up for the science of man, as for the other 
departments of natural knowledge, a Linneus, to class 
mankind according to their inclinations and propensi- 
ties, what astonishment would be felt, at finding many 
a one whose vices are now stifled in the contracted 
sphere of private life, and within the narrow pale of 
the laws, placed in the same order with the infamous 
Borgia. 

With these considerations in view, many an objec- 
tion may be made to the usual mode of treating histo- 
ry, and here I suspect lies the cause, which has hither- 
to rendered the study of history productive of so little 
effect on private life. Between the excited feelings of 
a man who performs an action, and the tranquil state of 
the reader before whom that action is depicted, there 
intervenes so wide a distance, that it is difficult, nay 
impossible for the latter even to guess at the connec- 
tion between the action and the state of mind which 
produced it. There remains a vacuity between the 
subject of history and the reader, which cuts off all 
possibility of comparison or profit, and produces not 
that wholesome fear, which warns against the over-se- 
curity of health, but only a stare of wonder. We look 
upon the unfortunate person, who in the hour in which 
he did the deed, as well as in that in which he atoned 
for it, was a human being like ourselves, — we look up- 
on him as a creature of another kind, whose blood cir- 
culates differently from our own, whose will obeys dif- 
ferent laws from ours : we sympathize but little in his 
fate, for sympathy is always founded on a shadowy con- 
sciousness of similarity of danger, and we are far from 
even dreaming of such a similarity. The instruction 
and the connection are lost together ; and history, in - 



108 THE DISHONOURED 

stead of being a school of education, must rest satisfied 
with the paltry acquisition of power over our curiosity. 
If she would do something more, and attain her grand 
object, then she must choose between these two methods 
« — either the reader must be made warm like the hero, 
or the hero must be made cold like the reader. 

I know that many of the best historians, of modern 
as well as of ancient times, have adopted the first mode, 
and have assailed the heart of their readers with mov- 
ing representations. But this manner is a usurpation 
of the writer, and offends against the free spirit of the 
republic of letters, to whom it alone belongs to sit in 
judgment : it is at the same time an infraction of the 
established law of boundaries, for this method belongs 
exclusively and peculiarly to the novelist and the poet : 
only the latter mode then remains to the historian. 

The hero must become cold like the reader, or what 
is the same thing, we must be made acquainted with 
him before he acts : we must see him not only perform 
the action, but likewise will it. In his thoughts there 
lies infinitely more for our observation, than in his ac- 
tions ; and still more in the sources of his thoughts, 
than in the consequences of those actions. The soil of 
Vesuvius has been examined, to discover the cause of 
its burning ; why should we bestow less attention on a 
moral than on a physical phenomenon ? Why do we 
not attach an equal degree of importance to the nature 
of the circumstances in which a particular individual 
was placed, until the collected fuel burst into a flame 
within? — The enthusiast who loves the wonderful, 
would be charmed by the novelty and the romance of 
such an inquiry ; the friend of truth seeks the cause of 
these explained facts. He seeks it in the unchange- 
able structure of the human soul, and in the varying 
circumstances which modified it from without, and in 
these he finds it with certainty. It surprises him no 
longer in the same bed of earth, where formerly none 



IRRECLAIMABLE, 109 

but wholesome herbs flourished, to see the poisonous 
hemlock thrive, and it excites no astonishment to find 
wisdom and folly, virtue and vice, in the same cradle. 

Although I do not bring forward any of the advan- 
tages which the science of mind devises from this mode 
of treating history, it deserves the preference for this 
reason alone, that it roots out the cruel scorn and proud 
security, with which untried and upright virtue usually 
looks down upon the fallen ; that it encourages that 
mild spirit of toleration, without which no fugitive re- 
traces his steps, no reconciliation between the Jaw and 
the offender can take place, no tainted member of so- 
ciety can be saved from total destruction. 

Whether the criminal of whom I am now to speak, 
may have had a right to appeal to that spirit of tolera- 
tion, or whether he was truly lost past redemption, to 
the body of the state, I will not anticipate, but leave to 
the decision of the reader. To him our indulgence 
can no longer be of any avail — for he died by the hand 
of the executioner, but the detail of his vices may per- 
haps instruct mankind, and, it is possible the adminis- 
trators of justice also. 

Christian Wolf was the son of an Innkeeper in the 

village of T , and assisted his mother, his father 

being dead, till his twentieth year, in the cares of the 
establishment. The Inn became unfrequented, and 
Wolf had many idle hours. Even while at school he 
was known as a waggish boy. Grown-up girls 
brought home complaints of his impertinencies, and the 
youth of the village did homage to his inventive genius. 
Nature had done little for his person ; — a small un- 
seemly figure, curly hair of a disagreeably dark colour, 
a broad flat nose, and a swollen upper lip, which (be- 
sides had been set awry by the kick of a horse,) gave a 
repulsive character to his countenance, which made 
every woman avoid him, and afford rich food to the 
wit of his companions. 

10 



110 THE DISHONOURED 

He was resolved to obtain what was denied him,— « 
because he was disliked, he was determined to please, 
He became thoughtful, and persuaded himself he was 
in love. The girl whom he made choice of, treated 
him ill, he had reasons to fear that his rivals were more 
fortunate ; but the girl was poor. A heart that re- 
mained shut to his pleadings, might perhaps open to 
his presents, but he himself was not rich, and the vain 
attempt to make his presents valuable, swallowed up 
even the little which he had acquired in his unprofitable 
employment. Too idle and too thoughtless to support 
his falling fortune by business, too proud and also too 
weak to exchange the gentleman for the peasant, and 
to renounce that freedom which he adored, for slavery 
which he hated, he saw only one out-let for himself, — ■ 
though thousands before and after him have adopted it 
with better success,— -the out-let of stealing honestly. 
His native village bordered upon a royal forest — he 
became a poacher, and the produce of his robbery went 
faithfully into the hands of his mistress. 

Among the lovers of Annette was Robert, an assist- 
ant huntsman to the Forester. He early remarked the 
advantage which the liberality of his rival had gained 
over him, and with envious eye sought the cause of 
this change. He appeared more frequently in the 
Sun, — this was the sign to the Inn, — and soon his 
watchful eye, sharpened by envy and jealousy, disco- 
vered the source whence al] the money flowed. Not 
long before this time a severe edict against poaching 
had been renewed, which condemned the transgressor 
to the house of correction. Robert was unwearied in 
his attempts to steal upon the secret paths of his ene- 
my, and at length he succeeded in catching the un- 
thinking poacher in the very act. Wolf was arrested, 
and the sacrifice of the whole of his little property was 
barely sufficient to provide a fine to enable him to es- 
cape the appointed punishment. 



IRRECLAIMABLE. Ill 

Robert triumphed. His rival was beat off the field, 
and the beggar lost the good graces of Annette. 
Wolf knew his enemy, and this enemy was the fortu- 
nate possessor of his beloved. The oppressive feeling 
of want joined itself to offended pride, — necessity and 
jealousy united, rushed in upon his feelings, — hunger 
impelled him to go forth into the wide world ; — revenge 
and passion held him fast. He became for the second 
time a poacher ; but Roberts redoubled watchfulness 
over-reached him again. He now experienced the 
whole rigour of the law : for as he had nothing more 
to give, he was sent to the house of correction in the 
capital. 

His year of punishment was now over ; his passion 
by absence had increased, and his daring spirit had 
risen under the weight of misfortune. Scarcely had 
he received his freedom before he hurried to his native 
place, to show himself to his Annette, He appeared, 
and every one shunned him. Threatening necessity 
at length brought down his pride^ and overcame his 
delicacy, — he presented himself to the rich of the 
place, and would willingly serve for day's wages. The 
peasants shrugged their shoulders at the debilitated 
youth, the brawny forms of his powerful competitors 
supplanted him with his insensible patrons. He ha- 
zarded a last attempt. A situation is vacant, the last 
forlorn post of respectability — he offered himself as 
the herdsman of the village common, but the peasants 
would not trust their swine to such a good-for-nothing 
wretch. Disappointed in all his projects, rejected on 
all sides, he became poacher for the third time, and 
the third time he had the misfortune to fall into the 
hands of his watchful enemy. 

Repetition had aggravated his guilt. The Judges 
looked into the code of laws, but not one of them into 
the mind or habits of the accused ; the mandate against 
poaching required solemn and exemplary punishment, 



112 THE DISHONOURED 

and Wolf was doomed to have his back branded wit, 
the figure of the gallows, and to work three years in 
the fortress. 

This period also expired, and he left his prison ; — 
but alas ! how different from what he was when he 
went thither. Here a new epoch began in his life, let 
us listen to his own words, as he afterwards confessed 
to his spiritual counsellor and before the Judges : 

" I entered the fortress," said he, " a wanderer from 
the path of virtue, and left it a villain ; when I came 
to it, I still possessed something in the world that was 
dear to me, and my pride shrunk under m shame. 
When I was brought to the fortress, I was shut up with 
twenty-three prisoners, among whom two were mur- 
derers, and the rest were all notorious thieves and va- 
gabonds. I was derided when I spoke of God, and 
urged to repeat the most shameful blasphemies against 
the Saviour. They sang to me the most lascivious 
songs, which I, a dissolute boy, listened to with c v 5- 
gust and horror, but what I saw practised put my mo- 
desty still more to the test. Not a day passed wherein 
some infamous transaction was not repeated, wherein 
some worse project was not devised. At the first I fled 
this society, and stood aloof from Jheir conversation ac 
much as it was in my power, but I required soiw crei, 
ture to keep me company, and the barbarity of m 
keepers had even refused me my dog. The labour 
was hard and tyrannical, my frame was weakly, I re- 
quired assistance, nay I shall openly avow it, I re- 
quired pity, and this I was obliged to purchase with 
the last remains of my conscience. I became at 
length familiar with the lowest of my associates, and 
by the last quarter of a year I had surpassed my 
teachers. 

" From this time I panted for the day of my free- 
dom, — I thirsted for revenge. All men had injured 
me, for all were better and happier than I was. I .- 



IRRECLAIMABLE* 113 

myself as the martyr of natural rights, and the 
>f the law. With gnashing teeth I dragged 
r ns, when the sun rose behind the mountain up- 

01 h my prison stood : — a distant prospect is a 

doit hell to a prisoner. The unbound breeze which 
whistle through the air-holes of my turret, and the 
swalL that perched itself upon the iron staunchel of 
my ed window, appeared to be mocking me with 
the edom, and made my confinement the more 

drei 1. I then vowed implacable hatred upon all 
that a^ milated itself to humanity, and what I vowed I 
have L*. .estly kept. 

" M first thought, so soon as I saw myself at li- 
berty, as my native village. Although there was lit- 
tle to l i expected there for my future support, still my 
thixSt for revenge promised itself much. My heart 
beat wilder when the church-tower rose in the distance 
from the surrounding wood. It was no longer that 
1 arty joy which I had experienced on my first return. 
The r iiembrance of all the hardships, of all the per- 
secutk is which I formerly suffered there, were awa- 
kened it once from their horrid slumber of death, 
All my wounds bled anew, every scar was opened up 
afresh. I redoubled my pace. It refreshed me to 
antk^ t te the pleasure of terrifying my enemies by 
my sadden reappearance, and I thirsted even now as 
much iter new humiliation, as I had formerly trembled 
at it. 

" The bells were ringing for vespers when I reached 
the centre of the market-place. The people were 
flockir sj to church. I was quickly recognised, — every 
one who met me started back with horror. I had had 
fum y earliest years a peculiar fondness for children, 
and something now involuntarily impelled me to offer 
a gros :hen to a boy that amused himself near me ; 
the be stared at me for a moment, and threw the piece 
n oney in my face* Had my blood been only some- 
10* 



114 THE DISHONOURED 

what calmer, I might have recollected that the beard 
which I had brought with me from the fortress disfi- 
gured the features of my face even to frightfulness, — 
but my wicked heart had poisoned my reason, and 
tears, such as I had never shed, fell over my cheeks. 

" The boy knows not who I am, nor whence I come, 
said I to myself, and yet he avoids me like a beast of 
prey. Am I then marked upon the brow, or have I 
ceased to bear the semblance of a man since I feel I 
can no longer bestow on him my affection? The 
contempt of this boy pained me more bitterly than my 
three years' slavery, for I had done him a favour, and 
could charge him with no personal hatred. 

"I sat down in a wood-yard opposite the church ; 
I knew not precisely what I wanted, but I still know 
that I rose up much exasperated, when of all my ac- 
quaintances that passed, not one had deigned to salute 
me, — not one. Indignantly I left my station, to seek 
out for a lodging, when on turning the corner of a 
street, I came in contact with my Annette. ' Host of 
the Sun!' cried she, in a loud voice, and made a mo- 
tion as if to embrace me. 6 Thou back again, dear 
host of the Sun, God be praised that thou art return- 
ed!' Her dress bespoke hunger and misery, her 
countenance had a shameful sickliness in it, and her 
look announced the abandoned creature to which she 
was reduced. I instantly guessed what had happened ; 
some of the Prince's dragoons, which I had just en- 
countered, suggested the idea of a garrison in the vil- 
lage ; ' a soldier's trull,' cried I, and laughing, turned 
my back upon her. I felt happy that yet one creature 
was below me in the rank of the living, I had never 
loved her ! 

"My mother was dead. — My creditors had been 
paid with my small house ; I had neither friend nor 
property remaining. All the world shunned me as 
something poisonous, but I had at last forgotten to be 



IRRECLAIMABLE, 115 

ashamed. Formerly I had avoided the look of men, 
because contempt was to me intolerable. Now I 
pressed forward, and was delighted when I could ter- 
rify them. I was happy I had nothing more to lose 
and nothing more to guard. I required no good quali- 
ty any longer, because none was any longer expected 
from me. 

" The whole world lay open before me. I might 
probably have passed in some foreign province for an 
honest man, but I had lost the heart even to appear so. 
Despair and shame had at last forced this feeling on 
me. My last subterfuge was to learn to do without 
honour, because I dared no longer lay claim to any. 
Had my vanity and my pride survived my humiliation, 
I must have ended my existence with my own hand. 

" What I had resolved to do henceforth, was, as yet, 
unknown to myself. I wished to do evil, — of this much 
I have still the obscure recollection. I wished to de- 
serve my fate ; the laws, thought I, are beneficial to the 
world, therefore I determined to violate them. — I had 
formerly transgressed from thoughtlessness and neces- 
sity, I now did so out of free choice, for my own plea- 
sure. 

" My first plan was to prosecute my poaching — hunt- 
ing, in general, had by degrees become a passion in me, 
and besides, I must live. But this was not all ; it 
pleased me much to hold in derision the Princely edict, 
and to injure my sovereign in spite of all his powers. 
I cared no longer about being seized, for I had now a 
gun ready for my detector, and I knew too that my 
shot would not miss its aim. I killed all the game 
I saw, a little only of it I sold on the frontiers, the 
greater part was left to rot where it fell. I lived par- 
simoniously, that I might bear the expense of powder 
and shot. The destruction of the larger game became 
notorious, but upon me suspicion no longer fell ; my 
look extinguished it* My name was forgotten* 



116 THE DISHONOURED 

"I followed this sort of life for several months ; one 
morning, according to usual practice, I had roamed 
through the wood, following the track of a stag. For 
two hours I had wearied myself in vain, and had begun 
already to give up my prize as lost, when all at once I 
discovered it within shot, directly before me. I will 
kill it and carry it away, thought I,- — the sight of a hat 
which lay upon the ground a few paces before me, 
suddenly terrified me. I looked more narrowly, and 
recognised the huntsman Robert, who, behind the thick 
trunk of an oak, was now aiming at the stag for which 
my shot was destined. A deadly chill ran through my 
frame at the sight. He was just the man among all 
living beings whom I hated most, and this man was 
placed in the power of my rifle. At this moment it 
seemed to me as if the whole world lay in my shot, 
and the hatred of my whole life had concentrated itself 
on the trigger with which I could accomplish the mur- 
derous deed. An invisible frightful hand pressed upon 
me ; the finger of my destiny irrevocably pointed to this 
dark moment. My arm trembled, when I permitted 
my gun to take its terrible choice — my teeth gnashed 
together as in the chill of an ague, and my breath re- 
mained motionless in my lungs. The level of my rifle 
remained a minute wavering between the man and the 
stag — a minute — then another — and another. Con- 
science and Revenge struggled hard and doubtfully, 
but revenge proved victorious, and the huntsman lay 
dead upon the ground. 

"My gun fell with the shot — 'murderer,' muttered I 
slowly — the forest was as silent as a church-yard — I. 
heard distinctly that I had articulated ' murderer.' — 
When I stepped nearer, the man expired. I stood a 
long time speechless by the corpse, but at length a loud 
laugh burst from me. ' Wilt thou now cease to tell 
tales, worthy friend ?' said I, stepping boldly up, while 
I at the same time turned round the face of the hunter 




IRRECLAIMABLE. 117 

I 

man. His eyes stood wide open — instantly I became 
grave and silent. I felt as I had never done before. 

" Until this moment I had transgressed as a com- 
pensation for my shame : now there was something done 
for which I had not yet atoned. An hour before, I 
thought that no one could have persuaded me that there 
was any thing worse than myself in existence, now I 
began to suspect that my situation an hour ago, was an 
enviable one. 

" The judgments of God occurred not to my mind, 
or if they did, but one flitted before me, and what it 
was I know not. My recollection was perplexed with 
the thought of rope and hatchet, and the execution of 
a woman for child-murder, which I had witnessed when 
a school-boy. Something particularly terrifying me- 
thought must happen to myself, for, from this moment, 
my life was forfeited. I thought on nothing else. I 
wished only that the huntsman still lived. I did all 
that was in my power to recall the evil deeds he had 
done me when alive, but in vain. My memory was 
extinct. I could not recollect even one of the various 
things which had raised me, but a quarter of an hour 
ago, to a state of madness ; I could not conceive how I 
had brought myself to commit this murderous deed. 

" I was still standing beside the corpse. I might have 
stoocHbrever — when the crack of a whip and the creak- 
ing of a waggon which went through the forest, brought 
me to myself. — It was scarcely a quarter of a mile from 
the high road where the deed was perpetrated, — I 
thought of safety. 

" Involuntarily I plunged deeper into the forest. Up- 
on the way it struck me that the deceased had once 
possessed a watch. I required money to reach the 
frontiers, and yet my courage failed me to return to 
the place where the corpse lay. Here a thought on 
the devil, and on the omnipresence of God, terrified me* 
I gathered up all my boldness, and determined to brave 



118 THE DISHONOURED 

the combat even with the powers of hell, — I went back 
to the spot. I found what I had expected, and in a 
green purse, something more than a dollar in money. 
In the very act of putting both of them into my pocket 
I stopped suddenly and considered. It was no fit of 
shame, nor of fear to aggravate my crime by plunder, 
it was spite I believe that made me throw the watch 
away from me, and made me keep only the half of the 
money. I wished to be considered the personal ene- 
my of the slain, not his robber. 

"I now flew through the forest. I knew that the 
wood streched northwards for four German miles, and 
there skirted the frontiers of the Principality. Until 
noon I ran on breathlessly ; the rapidity of my flight had 
relieved my mental anxiety, but it returned more ter- 
ribly as my strength became exhausted; a thousand 
frightful images rose up before me, and struck like pier- 
cing daggers through my heart. Between a life full of 
the fear of death, or a violent death itself, it was now 
left me to make the dreadful choice, and that choice 
must instantly be made. I had not the heart to leave the 
world by suicide, and yet shrunk back at the prospect 
of remaining in it. Held fast between the known mis- 
eries of life, and the unknown terrors of eternity, alike 
incapable to live or to die, I completed the sixth hour 
of my flight, an hour replete with miseries which no 
living being could describe. 

" Wrapt up in myself and weary, with my hat un- 
consciously drawn down upon my face, as if this could 
have shrouded me from the eye of inanimate nature, I 
had insensibly followed a small foot-path which led me 
through the gloomiest part of the forest, when all of a 
sudden, a rough commanding voice called to me ' Halt !' 
The voice was quite near, my distraction and my 
slouched hat had prevented me from looking around. 
I raised my eyes up and saw a savage-looking man 
with a large knotty stick approaching me. His figure 



r 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 119 



seemed gigantic, at least my first surprise had made 
me think so, and the colour of his skin was of a yellow 
mulatto hue, from which the white of a squinting eye 
obtruded even to frightfulness. Instead of a girdle he 
had a thick rope bound twice round a green woollen 
coat, wherein was stuck a broad butcher's knife and a 
pistol. The cry was repeated, and a powerful arm 
held me fast. The voice of a man had filled me with 
terror, but the sight of a villain gave me courage. In 
the situation wherein I was at present, I had reasons 
to tremble before every honest man, but none before a 
robber. 

" i Who art thou ?' said the apparition. 

" ' Thy equal,' was my answer, i if thou art really 
what thou seem'st to be.' 

" f There is no road this way, — what wouldst thou 
seek here ?' 

"'What right hast thou to ask?' replied I, con- 
temptuously. 

" The man looked at me twice from head to foot. 
It seemed as if he were comparing my figure with his 
own, and my answer with my figure. 

" ' Thou speakest like a beggar.' 

" \ That may be — I was one yesterday.' 

" The man laughed. ' Any one would swear,' cried 
he, * that even now, thou wouldst not pass for much 
better.' 

" i For something worse then, — but I must on.' 

" i Hold friend ; what makes you journey so fast ? 
f s your time so precious f" 

" I bethought myself for a moment. I know not 
how the words came upon my tongue, ' Life is short, 9 
said I, slowly, t and hell endures for ever.' 

" He stared at me. i I will be damned,' said he at 
length, * but thou hast rubbed shoulders with the gal- 
lows.' 



120 THE DISHONOURED 

" < That may probably happen yet. Farewell, till 
we meet again, comrade.' 

" i Stop comrade,' cried he, while he drew out a tin 
flask from his hunting-pocket, took a powerful draught 
of it, and then reached it to me. Flight and anxiety 
had consumed my strength, and during this whole 
frightful day, nothing had, as yet, crossed my lips. I 
was afraid of fainting in the forest. I could not hope 
to get the least refreshment for three miles around me. 
It may be judged how gladly I shared this offered 
health. My limbs gained new strength from this re- 
freshment, my heart new courage, mingled with hopes 
and love of life. I began to think that I might yet not 
be altogether so miserable ; so much had this welcome 
beverage accomplished. Yes, I confess it, my situa- 
tion bordered again upon humanity, for at length, af- 
ter a thousand disappointed hopes, I had found a being 
who was like myself. In the state to which I was sunk, 
I would have drunk fellowship with the spirits of hell 
to have gained a confidant. 

" The man had stretched himself out upon the grass, 
— I did the same. 

" * Thy drink has done me good,' said I, ' we must 
become better acquainted.' 

" He struck fire to light his pipe. 

" * Hast thou followed this business long ?' 

" He looked sternly at me, ' What dost thou meatt 
by asking ?' 

" i Has that heen already bloody ?' drawing the knife 
from his girdle. 

" Who art thou ?' said he fiercely, and laying his 
pipe aside. 

" i A murderer like yourself, — but only a beginner/ 

" The man looked at me sternly, and took up his 
pipe again. 

" 4 Thou art not of this neighbourhood,' said he, 
after a pause. 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 121 

u * About three miles distant : — the host of the Sun, 
in T , if thou hast ever heard of me.' 

" The man leapt up like one possessed. 6 The 
poacher, Wolf?' cried he hastily. 

" « The same.' 

"< Welcome comrade, welcome,' criedhe, and shook 
me forcibly by the hand : ' that is excellent, I have thee 
at last, mine host of the Sun. For days and years I 
have thought upon how I could catch thee, — I know 
thee right well, — I know all,— I have long reckoned 
upon thee.' 

" ' Reckoned upon me ! how so?" 

" ' The whole country is full of thee. Thou hast 
had enemies,— an Amtman has oppressed thee, Wolf. 
Thou hast been crushed to the ground ; yet thy wrongs 
cry up to heaven for vengeance.' 

" The man became warm. 

" ' Because thou hast shot a few wild boars, which 
the Prince fed upon our fields and acorns, they have 
dragged thee to the House of Correction, and then to 
the Fortress ; they have stolen from thee, house and 
business, — they have made thee a beggar. Is it come 
to this, brother, that a man should be no better than a 
hare? Are we not better than the cattle upon the 
.fields ? And can a fellow like thee endure it ?' 

" < Could I alter it ?' 

" i That shall be seen immediately ; but tell me 
whence comest thou now, and what object hast thou in 
view ?' 

" I told him my whole story. The man, without 
waiting till I had finished, sprang up with joyful impa- 
tience and drew me up along with him. 

" ' Come brother host of the Sun,' said he, c now 
thou art ripe, now I have thee as I wanted thee; — 
follow me ?' 

M i Whither wouldst thou lead me ?' 
11 



122 THE DISHONOURED 

"'Thou wilt not need to ask long,™ follow.' He 
dragged me forcibly away. 

" We had gone a short quarter of a mile, the forest 
became steeper, wilder, and more impassable ; neither 
spoke a word, until at length the whistle of my con- 
ductor roused me from my reverie ; I raised up my 
eyes, we stood upon the rugged brink of a precipice, 
which bent itself below into a deep cavern. A double 
whistle answered from the innermost centre of the rock, 
and a ladder rose up as if of itself, slowly from the 
abyss. My conductor clambered down, and called to 
me to wait till he should return. ' I must first put the 
dog on the chain,' added he, ' thou art a stranger, the 
animal would tear thee.' With this he disappeared. 

"Now I stood alone before the abyss, and I knew 
well too, that I was alone. The inconsideration of my 
conductor did not escape my notice. It would only 
have cost me a little determined resolution to have 
drawn up the ladder, and I was free, and my flight 
was secured. I confess that I thought of it. I looked 
down into the deep cavern, which was now about to 
receive me ; it reminded me gloomily of the abyss of 
hell, from which there is no escape. I began to shud- 
der at the career I wls now about to enter upon, — in- 
stant flight could only save me. I determined upon 
this flight, and had already stretched out my arm for 
the ladder, — but all at once, there thundered in my 
ear, something that sounded to me like the scornful- 
laugh of hell ; ' what has a murderer to risk ?' — and 
my arm fell powerless by my side. My reckoning was 
complete — the time of repentance was over — my deed 
lay behind me like a huge rock, and barred my return 
for ever. My conductor at the same time reappeared, 
and told me to come away. There was now no lon- 
ger any choice, — I clambered down. 

" We were scarcely a few steps below the precipice. 



IRRECLAIMABLE, 123 

before the ground widened, and several huts became 
visible. In the middle of these, a round grass plot 
opened out, upon which were lying round a blazing 
coal fire, from eighteen to twenty people. ' Here com- 
rades,' said my conductor, and placed me in the midst 
of the* circle, ' here is our Host of the Sun ! bid him 
welcome V 

" f. Welcome, Host of the Sun ! 5 cried they all at once, 
while they rose up and pressed around me, men and 
women. Shall 1 confess it ? Their joy was undissem- 
bled and hearty ; confidence, even respect appeared 
on every countenance, — one pressed my hand, another 
shook me confidently, by the coat,— their whole beha- 
viour appeared like a meeting with an old acquaint- 
ance 4hat was dear to them. My arrival had broken 
in upon their meal which they had just begun. It 
was immediately resumed,, and I was required to drink 
the welcome. 

" The supper consisted of .all kinds of game, and the 
wine-flask wandered unwearied from neighbour to 
neighbour. Happiness and harmony seemed to ani- 
mate the*whole band, and each ,vied with the other to 
show his joy at my arrival. 

" I was placed between two fe^iale personages, which 
seemed the seat of honour atttLe table. I expected to 
see the very outcasts of their sex, but how great was 
my astonishment, when I discovered under the meanest 
apparel, the loveliest female forms that ever met my 
eye. Margaretta, the oldest and prettiest of the two 
called herself Miss, and could scarcely be five-and- 
twenty ; she spoke very freely, and her gestures said 
still more. Maria, who was younger, was married, 
but ran off from her husband, because he had used her 
ill. She was more handsomely formed, but looked 
pale and slender, and pleased the eye less than her bold- 
er neighbour* Both women were zealous to gain my 
love ; — the fair Margaretta overcame my modesty by 



124 THE DISHONOURED 

her free and alluring manners, but the woman alto- 
gether was disagreeable to me, and the bashful Maria 
seized upon my heart for ever. 

" ' You see brother Host of the Sun !' said the man 
who had brought me here, ' you see how we live among 
one another, and with us every day is alike. Is it not 
comrades ?' 

" * Every day like the present, was repeated by the 
whole band.' 

" 'If therefore you can determine to be pleased with 
our mode of life, then consent to be our leader : — till 
now I have been so, but I will yield to you. Are you 
satisfied comrades ?' 

'"A joyful ' yes !' responded from every throat. 

" My head burned, my brain was stunned, my blood 
boiled with wine and passion. The world had dis- 
carded me as one afflicted with the plague ;— here I 
found a brotherly reception, comfort and honour. 
Whatever choice I made, death awaited me ; but I 
could here at least sell my life at a higher price. Sen- 
suality was my ruling propensity ; women had always 
until now treated me with contempt, here affection and 
unbridled pleasure awaited me. My decision cost me 
little thought. ' I remain with you comrades,' said I, 
with a loud and determined voice, and stepped into the 
middle of the band ; ' I remain with you,' cried I again, 
' if you resign to me my lovely neighbour ?' — all agreed 
to grant me my wish. I was the declared proprietor 
of a strumpet, and the captain of a band of robbers!" 

The following part of the story I pass over alto- 
gether ; what is merely terrible, has nothing instructive 
in it for the reader. A wretch who had sunk to this 
depth, would permit all that humanity revolts at — but 
he committed no second murder, at least so he himself 
declared upon the scaffold. 

His fame extended itself in a short time through the 
whole province. The roads became insecure! noctur- 



IRRECLAIMABLE* 125 

nal robberies disturbed the citizens, and the name of 
the Host of the Sun became the terror of the country 
people. Justice sought him out, and a price was set 
upon his head. He was fortunate in eluding every 
snare that was laid for him, and was cunning enough 
to take advantage of the superstition of the credulous 
peasants to secure his freedom. His associates were di- 
rected to spread the report that he had made a contract 
with the devil, and could make use of witchcraft. The 
district upon which he played his part, was then still 
more than now, one of the least enlightened in Ger- 
many. Full belief was given to this report, and his 
person was secure : no man showed an inclination to 
have a contest with the dangerous being whom the de- 
vil had chosen for his service. 

He had already followed this dreadful occupation 
for a twelvemonth, when it began to grow insupporta- 
ble to him. The band at whose head he had placed 
himself, fulfilled not his glowing expectations. A se- 
ductive exterior, while giddy with wine, had formerly 
blinded him ; he now perceived with terror, how hor- 
ridly he was mistaken. Hunger and want appeared in 
place of the abundance, with which he had been 
gained over. Very often must he risk his life upon a 
single meal, which was barely sufficient to protect him 
from his hungry associates. The phantom of brotherly 
concord disappeared ; envy, suspicion, and jealousy 
raged in the hearts of this abandoned society. Justice 
had offered a reward to any one who would deliver him 
up alive, and if it should be an accomplice, a complete 
pardon was promised, — a mighty search for the out- 
cast of the earth ! The unfortunate man knew his 
clanger ; the honesty of those who despised God and 
man was a poor pledge for his life. His sleep hence- 
forward departed ; an everlasting deathlike anxiety 
gnawed at his peace ; wherever he went, the frightful 
phantom of suspicion rattled behind him, pained him 
11* 



126 THE DISHONOURED 

when awake, lay by his side when he went to sleep, 
and tormented him with horrid dreams. Stifled con- 
science regained at the same time its voice, and the 
sleeping adder of repentance awoke with this common 
storm of his bosom. His whole hatred was now avert- 
ed from man, and was turned with all its poignancy 
upon his own head. He forgave the whole of nature, 
and found none to curse except himself. i 

Vice had completed its instructions to the unhappy 
man ; his naturally good understanding triumphed at 
length over the melancholy delusion. He now felt 
how low he had fallen, calm sadness took the place of 
gnashing despair. With tears he wished the past could 
return, now he knew well that he would pass it quite 
differently. He began to hope he might yet be honest, 
for he felt in himself that he could be so. In the low- 
est depth of his depravity he was nearer honesty, than 
probably he ever had been since his first error. 

About this time the seven years' war broke out r and 
the levies for soldiers were cruelly severe. The un- 
happy man entertained hopes from this circumstance, 
and wrote a letter to his sovereign, ail extract of which 
I here insert : 

" If your princely favour does not feel disgust to 
look down upon me ; if a criminal of my sort does 
not lie completely beyond the pale of your pity, then 
grant me your attention most illustrious Prince ! — I 
am a murderer and a robber, the law condemns me to 
death, justice seeks me out — and I offer most willingly 
to deliver myself up. But 1 bring at the same time a 
strange request before your throne. I abhor my life 
and fear not death, but it is a terrible thing for me to 
die, without having lived. I would live to make repa- 
ration for a portion of the past ; I would live to atone 
to the state which I have injured. My execution would 
be an example to the world, but no compensation for 
nay deeds, I hate vice, and thirst ardently for honesty 



IRRECLAIMABLE, 127 

and virtue. I have shown abilities in being terrible to 
my native country ; I hope there are yet some left in 
me, whereby I might be useful to it. 

" I know that I sue for an unheard of thing — my 
life is forfeited, yet it is not my intention to make a 
treaty with justice. But I appear not in chains and 
bonds before you, — I am still free — and alarm for my- 
self has not the slightest connection with my petition. 

" It is favour I implore, — a claim upon justice, even 
though I had one, I would not attempt to make of any 
avail. Yet of something I might remind my Judges. 
The catalogue of my crimes began with the sentence 
that deprived me for ever of my honour. Had justice 
been formerly less severe towards me, I would not now 
have required mercy. 

" Let your clemency stand in the place of right, 
my Prince. If it is in your sovereign power to save 
me from the law, then grant me my life. It shall be 
henceforward dedicated to your service. If you can 
do it, inform me of your gracious determination in the 
public newspapers, and I shall upon your princely word 
appear in the capital. If you have decided otherwise 
with me, then let justice act her own part, — I must act 
mine." 

This petition remained without an answer, as well 
as a second and a third, wherein the supplicant begged 
to be admitted into the cavalry of the Prince. His 
hopes of a pardon vanished altogether, and he there- 
fore resolved to fly the country, enter the service of the 
King of Prussia, and die like a brave soldier. 

He dispersed his band, and entered upon his jour- 
ney. The road conducted him through a small town, 
where he wished to pass the night. Strict proclama- 
tions had just been issued through the country, for a 
severe examination of all travellers, as the Sovereign, 
a Prince of the Empire, had taken a part in the war. 
Such a command the gate-clerk of this town had also 



128 THE DISHONOURED 

received. He sat upon a bench before the gate, as the 
Host of the Sun rode forward. The appearance of 
Wolf had something comical in it, and at the same time 
something terrifying and savage. The meagre horse 
which he rode, and the burlesque choice of his attire, 
wherein he had given less proof of his taste than of the 
chronicle of his thefts, contrasted strangely enough 
with a countenance upon which as many raging pas- 
sions were pourtrayed, as are to be seen in the silenced 
corpses on a field of battle. The gate-clerk started at 
the sight of this strange wanderer. He had grown 
grey in the service, and forty years' experience had 
produced in him a physiognomical acquaintance with 
all travellers. 

The hawk-eye of this blood-hound did not miss hi& 
man here either. He instantly shut the town-gate and 
demanded of the horse-man his passport, while he made 
sure of his horse's reins. Wolf had provided for an 
accident of this kind, and carried in reality a passport 
along with him which he a short time before had taken 
from a merchant whom he had plundered. But this 
solitary token was not sufficient to take away forty 
years observation, and to bring the oracle of the town- 
bar to a recantation. The clerk believed his own eyes 
rather than the paper, and Wolf was required to follow 
him to the Amthouse. 

The Amtman examined the passport and declared it 
right, he was an inveterate lover of news, and liked 
particularly to talk of the times over a bottle. The 
passport told him its possessor had come direct from 
the very theatre of the war. He wished to fish out 
private intelligence from the stranger, and therefore 
sent a clerk back with the passport, coupled with an in- 
vitation to share a bottle of wine. 

In the meantime the Host of the Sun remained on 
horseback in front of the Amthouse, and his laughable 
appearance had collected round him the scum of the 



IRRECLAIMABLE* 129 

town, they whispered to each other, pointing alternate- 
ly to the horse and the rider ; the wantonness of the 
people arose at length to a complete tumult. Unfor- 
tunately the horse to which every one pointed was a 
stolen one ; the rider imagined that the horse might 
have been described in the public placards, and was re* 
cognised. The unexpected hospitality of the Amtman 
completed his suspicion. He now considered it as cer- 
tain that his false passport had betrayed him, and that 
this invitation was only a snare to seize him alive, and 
without opposition. A bad conscience made him stu- 
pid, — he put spurs to his horse, and gallopped forward 
without giving any answer to the clerk. 

This sudden flight was a signal to the rabble. 

" A villain," cried all, and rushed after him. With 
the rider it seems life or death ; he has already got in 
advance, his pursuers follow breathless behind him, he 
is approaching his salvation — but a strong hand press- 
ed invisibly against him, — the hour of his destiny was 
run, the inexorable Nemesis arrested him as her debtor. 
The street which he had trusted to ended in a cul-desae^ 
he was obliged to turn round in the face of his pursuers. 

The alarm of this event had in the mean-time put the 
whole town in an uproar; crowd joined crowd, every 
street is stopped, a host of enemies are in full march 
upon him. He draws a pistol, — the people are afraid ; 
he endeavours to make a way by force for himself 
through the crowd. "This shot" — cried he, — "is 
for the daring fool who will stop me." — Fear produced 
a universal pause ; but a courageous locksmith at length 
caught his arm from behind, seized the finger with 
which the raging man would discharge his pistol, and 
squeezed it out of joint. The pistol fell, the defence- 
less man is torn from his horse, and dragged in triumph 
to the Amthouse. 

"Who art thou?" demanded the Judge, with some- 
thing of a brutal tone, 



130 THE DISHONOURED 

" A man who is resolved to answer no question, till 
he is treated more politely." 

"Who are you?" 

" What I gave myself out to be. I have travelled 
throughout all Germany, and have been insulted no- 
where except here." 

" Your sudden flight makes you very suspicious. 
Why did you fly?" 

" Because I was weary of being the sport of your 
rabble." 

" You threatened to fire." 

" My pistol was not loaded ; the weapon was exa- 
mined, — there was no shot in it." 

" Why do you carry such weapons about you ?" 

" Because I bear about me things of value ; and be- 
cause too, I have been warned of a certain Host of the 
Sun, that rambles about this neighbourhood." 

" Your answers prove much for your assurance, but 
nothing for your honesty. I shall give you till to-mor- 
row, to see whether you will discover the truth." 

" I shall adhere to my present declaration." 

" Let him be conducted to prison." 

" To prison ? — Herr Amtman, I hope there is still 
justice in this country — I shall demand satisfaction." 

" I shall give it to you, as soon as you are cleared 
from suspicion." 

On the morning, the Amtman considered the stran- 
ger might yet, possibly, be innocent ; that imperious 
words would have no power over his stubbornness, 
and therefore it might be better to meet him with 
calmness and moderation. He assembled the council 
of the place, and ordered the prisoner Jo be brought up. 

" Pardon me, Sir, if, in the effervescence of the mo- 
ment, I yesterday treated you somewhat harshly." 

" Most willingly, since you address me thus." 

" Our laws are severe, and your adventure caused 
alarm. I cannot grant you your freedom without vi- 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 131 

olating the laws: appearances are against you. I 
would wish that you could tell me something whereby 
the suspicion might be removed." 

" And if I should know nothing ?" 

" Then I must inform the government of the circum- 
stance, and you must remain thus long in confinement.'' 

" And then ?" 

" Then you run the danger of either being whipped 
across the frontiers as a vagabond, or if you are merci- 
fully dealt with, put under the drill-serjeant." 

Wolf was silent for a few moments, and appeared to 
suffer a severe mental conflict, then he turned suddenly 
round to the Judge, saying, " Can I be alone with you 
for a quarter of an hour r" 

The council looked at one another, not knowing 
what to do, but upon a significant nod from their pre- 
sident, they retired. 

" Well, what do you desire ?" 

" Your yesterday's behaviour Herr Amtman, would 
never have brought me to a confession, for I despise 
force. The modest discretion, however, with which 
you have treated me to-day, has inspired me with re- 
spect and confidence. I believe you are an honourable 
man." 

" What have you to say to me ?" 

"I see you are an honourable man : I have long 
wished for such a man. Permit me to take your right 
hand." 

" What means all this ?" 

" That head is grey and venerable, you have been 
long in the world, — have had probably many sufferings 
— have you not ? — And are become more humane in 
consequence ?" 

" Well Sir — and whither does all this lead?" 

" You stand but a step from eternity, soon — soon 
you will require pity from your God. Shall you refuse 



,132 THE DISHONOURED IRRECLAIMABLE, 

it to man? — Do you suspect nothing? — With whom 
do you think you speak?" 

" What is all this? — you terrify me." 

11 Have you no suspicion yet.— -Write to your Prince* 
how you found me, and that I was from choice, my own 
betrayer. — May God be one day as merciful to him, 
as he now will be to me. — Pray for me old man, and 
let a tear fall upon your communication :™I am the 
Host of the Sun!" 



ft 
THE 



DEATH OF AN ANGEL. 

BY 

JEAN PAUL RICHTER. 



There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are 
dreamt ef in thy philosophy, 

Shakespeare. 

Along with the angel of the last hour, to whom we 
give the harsh name of Death, there comes another, the 
tenderest and most benevolent of spirits, who gently 
lifts the sinking soul of man, and transports it in his 
fostering hands unhurt, from its cold receptacle on earth 
into its warm abode in heaven. His brother is the an- 
gel of the first hour, who kisses man twice, — first, 
when he begins this life, and again, when he awakens 
to the joys of immortality, and enters smiling into the 
other life, as he came weeping into this. 

Whilst the angel of the last hour was employed on 
fields of battle steeped in blood and tears, gathering 
souls trembling on the brink of life, his compassionate 
eye melted in sorrow, and he said, " I will for once die 
like a human being, and experience the last pang, that 
I may learn to mitigate it, when I release an immortal 
spirit from the bonds of life. 

The innumerable host of angelic beings who live in 
celestial love, encircled the compassionate angel, and 
12 

• 



134 DEATH OF 

promised to surround him in the moment of his disso- 
lution with their luminous beams, thm he might know 
it was death he had suffered ; and hi brother, whose 
kiss opens our stiffened lips, as the breath of morn ex- 
pands the ice-cold flowers, embraced him, and said : 
"When I kiss thee again, my brother, then thou shah 
have died on Earth, and shalt be once more with us in 
Heaven !" 

Moved with compassion, the angel descended upon 
a field of battle, where all had died, save a blooming 
youth whose blood-stained bosom still gently heaved. 
Beside the hero there was no one but his betrothed — he 
could no longer feel her burning tears, and her cry of 
anguish fell upon his ear undistinguished from the dis- 
tant battle-shout around. 

The angel quickly discovered the dying warrior, 
and approaching in the form of his lover, inhaled with 
a warm kiss the afflicted soul from his gory bosom — be 
gave the soul to his brother, who kissed him for the se- 
cond time, and forthwith it smiled above. 

The angel of the last hour, sprang like a flash of 
lightning into the empty form, pervaded the body, and 
caused the warm stream of life again to circulate from 
the reinvigorated heart. But how changed was he by 
the transformation! — His perception was lost in the 
whirlpool of the nervous fluid — his once rapid thoughts 
now waded sluggishly through the atmosphere of the 
brain, — the soft moist vapour, which formerly cast it> 
autumnal colouring over all objects was dried up, and 
their colours now came burning and painful to the 
eye, through the parched atmosphere. All his feel- 
ings became gloomy, and more contracted within him- 
self, and seemed to him as the instinct of animals ap- 
pears to us, — hunger gnawed him — thirst burnt him. 
and pain tore him. His bleeding and distracted bo- 
som heaved, and his first breath was a sigh for the hea- 
ven he had lost. " Is this," thought he, " the death 



AN ANGEL. 135 

of mortals?" But as he saw not the promised token 
of death — no angel to receive him — no heaven shining 
around him, he found that this was not the death of 
mortals, but their life. 

In the evening the earthly powers of the angel were 
exhausted, and his head seemed to be crushed beneath 
the weight of the globe — for sleep had despatched her 
messengers ; the figures of imagination exchanged their 
sunshine for a smoky flame, the images impressed up- 
on the brain during the day, were magnified to a colos- 
sal size, and confounded with each other, whilst a world 
of bounding and ungovernable thoughts had taken pos- 
session of his soul — for the god of dreams had sent his 
fairies. At length the winding-sheet of sleep was fold- 
ed double around him, and he sank in the embrace of 
night, torpid and solitary, like us poor mortals. But 
then celestial Dream, thou flewest before his soul with 
thy thousand mirrors ; in each mirror thou showedst 
him a circle of angels, and a radiant heaven ; and his 
terrestrial frame with all its pains, seemed to leave him 
unencumbered. "Alas!" said he with vain delight, 
" my falling asleep was my departure from life." But 
when he again awoke, with a heart oppressed, and full 
of the sluggish tide of human blood, and looked upon 
the earth and upon the night, then said he, " that. was 
not death, but only its image, although I saw the starry 
heavens, and the angelic hosts." 

The bride of the departed hero observed not that an 
augel dwelt in the breast of her lover. She loved the 
noble receptacle of the departed soul, and still affec- 
tionately held the hand of him who was far removed 
from her. But the angel returned the feelings of her 
deluded heart with human affection ; proud of his pre- 
sent form, he wished not to die before her, that she 
might love him long enough to forgive him one day in 
heaven, for having caused her to press at once to her 
bosom an angel arid a lover. 



136 DEATH OF 

But she died first,— past sorrow had weighed down 
the head of this flower too far, and it broke and fell 
lovely to the grave, Alas ! she departed before the 
weeping angel, not like the sun which plunges proud- 
ly before admiring nature into the ocean, raising its 
ruddy waves to heaven, but like the still moon which 
sinks at midnight, surrounded by a pale mist silvered 
by its own beams. 

Death sent as a precursor his gentle sister Insensible 
Mty. She touched the heart of the bride, and her warm 
countenance froze, — the flowers of her cheek shrunk — 
the pale snow of winter beneath which the spring of 
Eternity buds, covered her brow and her hands. The 
swelling eye of the angel melted into a burning tear — 
and while he thought his heart had burst forth in the 
form of that drop of water — like a pearl from the brit- 
tle shell-fish, — the bride moved, awaking from her last 
mental aberration, once more raised up her eyes, clasp- 
ed him to her heart, and while she kissed him, said, 
" Now I am with thee my brother" — expired. The 
angel imagined his heavenly brother had given him the 
sign of the kiss of death, but instead of a beaming 
heaven, a melancholy gloom surrounded him, and he 
sighed that this was not death, but only human sorrow 
for the sufferings of another. 

" O ye afflicted mortals," cried he, "how do ye out- 
live your afflictions, and how do you submit to the weary 
length of life, when the circle of your youthful com- 
panions is broken, and at last lies in ruins around you ; 
when the graves of your friends rise behind you, like 
steps conducting to your own, and when old age is si- 
lent and vapid, like the evening which follows a deadly 
conflict. O ye poor mortals! how can your hearts 
bear it?" 

The body of the ascended hero placed the mild an~ 
gel amid human hardships — amid human injustice* 
He was surrounded by the thorny girdle of allied go- 



AN ANGEL. 137 

vernments, — that girdle which holds in its stinging 
grasp whole quarters of the globe, and which the 
mighty and the powerful never cease to tighten. He 
saw the claws of crowned vultures tearing at their now 
featherless prey, which he heard struggling with wea- 
ried wing beneath their cruel grasp. He beheld the 
whole earth surrounded by the entwining folds of the 
gigantic serpents of vicious passions, which thrust 
and hid their poisonous heads deep in the human 
breast. Through his tender heart which heretofore 
had ever been placed amongst affectionate and loving 
angels, the burning sting of hatred shot ; and his soul 
the very sanctuary of love was terrified at its inward 
dissolution : "alas," said he, "human death is indeed 
painful." — But it was not death, for no angel ap- 
peared. 

In a few days he became weary of that life, which 
we bear for half a century, and longed to return to his 
lost Heaven. The evening sun attracted his conge- 
nial soul. His shattered and wounded breast exhausted 
him with pain. He went out with the glow of evening 
upon his pale cheek, to the church-yard, that green 
background of life, where the material forms of those 
lovely souls which he had once released, had been suc- 
cessively deposited. He placed himself with sorrow- 
ful longing upon the yet naked grave of his departed 
bride, and gazed at the setting sun. He looked too 
at his own afflicted frame, and thought, thou too 
wouldst have been lying here, distracted bosom, no 
longer causing pain, had I not raised thee from death. 
Here he reflected upon the sad life of man, and the 
palpitations of his own wounded bosom showed him 
the sorrows with which man purchases his virtue and 
his death ; sorrows which he rejoiced to have spared 
the noble soul whose body he animated. Human vir- 
tue deeply affected him, and he wept from his ceaseless 
love for man, who, amid the urgent cravings of his 
12* 



138 DEATH OP AN ANGEL, 

own necessities, under the lowering clouds which o\ei*~ 
shadow and darken the paths of life, turns not away 
his eye from the high day-star of duty, but stretches 
forth his generous arm through the darkness, towards 
every mourning fellow creature, round whom nothing 
but hope glimmers, like the sun sinking in the old 
world to rise in the new. Delight opened his wounds, 
and his blood, (the tears of the soul,) flowed from his 
heart upon the well-loved grave; the sinking body 
dropped softly towards the object of its affection. The 
sun, seen through his tears of joy, appeared to float 
in an ocean of rosy light. Distant echo-tones, like 
those of the earth when it speeds its way through 
aether, played through the moist and glowing mist: 
then a dark cloud, like a sudden night laden with sleep* 
flitted before the angel, and now the beams of Heaven 
arose and encompassed him, and thousands of celestial 
beings shone around him. " Art thou there again, 
delusive dream ?" said he ;< — but the angel of the first 
hour came to him through the radiant light, and gave 
him the sign of the kiss, and said, " That was Deaths 
thou eternal Brother and friend of Heaven," and the 
Hero and his bride softly repeated the joyful words, 



THE MOON. 

A TALE OF THE IMAGINATION. 

BY JEAN PAUL RICHTER. 

DEDICATED 

TO MY 

FOSTER-SISTER, PHILIPPINA. 



Look how the floor of Heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; — 
There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest, 
But in his motion like an Angel sings. 

Shakespeare. 

I HAVE never yet, my dear foster-sister, had a hit at 
you girls, for your attachment to the moon, for making 
it the plaything of your hearts, and the nest-egg round 
which you arrange all the other stars, when you hatch 
your fancies out of them. Be it so. But there are 
other things about which we might talk ; for example, 
that you would rather admire and look at the good 
moon and its man there cleaving to it, than learn re- 
ally to know them, just as you do with men beneath 
the moon. It is alas, no secret, dearest sister, that 
thousands of girls, have been both married and buried, 
who have considered that silver world above, as in re- 
ality nothing more than a pretty soup-plate of celestial 
tin, stamped with the man in the moon, just as the 
English ware is, with the figure of an angel. It may 
even be questioned, my dear, whether thou thyself 



140 THE MOON. 

knowest that the moon is but a few miles smaller than 
all Asia. How often must I sing it at thy window, be- 
fore thou rememberest it, that not only its day lasts half 
a month, but what is more worth hearing, its night 
also ; so that there, a gay girl who is torn by her mo- 
ther home from a ball at midnight, will have at least 
waltzed and whirled her good hundred and fifty hours. 
Now tell me Philippina, whether thou thinkest that the 
moon, or rather its inhabitants, will not, during so long 
a night, be desirous of seeing and walking about like 
ourselves, and consequently will require as big a moon 
as we do, one, at any rate, no smaller than an ordinary 
coach wheel. I have it from good authority, that thou 
hast no notion what the moon sees above it for a moon. 
Fair fickle one, our Earth is its moon, and appears to 
those above, no bigger than a bride' s-cake. I add 
too, for the sake of my story, which is to follow, that 
we can throw no light up to them, (moonlight or earth- 
light,)w r hen we have none here below ourselves, which 
is the case in an eclipse of the Sun ; consequently the 
inhabitants of the moon during an eclipse of the Sun, 
can say nothing else than, " We have an eclipse of the 
Earth to-day." 

I beseech you earnestly Philippina, consider those 
particulars of the moon, on which the whole of my fan- 
ciful story is founded, and read them at least twenty 
times over to your hearers ; else the whole will escape 
you before I have even begun. 

I take it uncommonly ill of your parents, that they 
have not instead of French, which like a bundle of su- 
pernumerary keys, (as useless as so many honorary 
lords of the bed-chamber,) is used only to keep up the 
tinkling of a soul-destroying prattle, and never to un- 
lock a single French book, — for you like stories of 
knight-errantry far better. I say, I take it ill of them 
that they have not rather caused you to learn astrono- 
my, a science which bestows on man an elevated heart, 
an ej^e which reaches above the earth, wings which ele- 



THE MOON. 141 

vate him into the immensity of space, and the know- 
ledge of a God who is not finite but eternal. 

We may have our fancies about all that is under the 
moon, or above it either, provided we do not mistake 
those fancies for realities, — take a magic lantern for a 
cabinet of pictures, — or a cabinet of pictures for one of 
natural objects. The astronomer makes an inventory 
and valuation of the heavens, and comes withiji a few 
pounds of the truth ; the poet furnishes and adorns 
them ; the former constructs the map of meadows, 
through which the latter conducts pearly streams, 
swarming with golden fishes ; the former throws mea- 
suring lines, the latter, garlands over the moon, and 
over the earth too. Thus, then, my love, thou canst 
easily meet with thy knitting-school companions on a 
lime-tree terrace, and feelingly read over to them fan- 
cies such as mine, if it is not done in broad day-light, 
and if the worship of the mother-church of the earth is 
not forgotten in the supplementary chapel-service of 
the moon. 

But thou gentle and pallid form, to whom I so often 
bend my looks to soften my heart, — thou who glim- 
merest so modestly and makest so modest — thou who 
displayest thy worth to the silent heavens and not to 
the noisy earth — to whom I willingly raise my eye 
when it contains a few superfluous tears, which fall 
upon the flowers of past happiness blooming in the me- 
mory, and lead my thoughts to wander beyond the 
clouds to the native land of our transplanted wishes, 
thou lovely form, Philippina, it re- 
joices thy brother's heart that it remains a matter of 
doubt whom I am here addressing, thee or the moon, 
To deserve such a doubt, dear sister, is so excellent, 
I know but one thing superior to it ; namely, to be 
exempted from it, — for resembling the moon in all but 
its spots and its changeableness. 

I am, however, with this latter distinction, 

Your Brother, 



142 THE MOON. 

When I related your little story for the first time, Eu- 
genius and Rosamond, whom I dare no longer call by 
your own names, my friends and I were walking in 
an English garden. We came opposite to a newly 
painted sarcophagus, standing on its pedestal. Beyond 
it, over the green garden, a white obelisk rose conspi- 
cuous, which pointed out the spot where two sister- 
princesses, had, after a painful separation, again united 
and embraced, and upon which the inscription ran : 
" Here we met again." — The summit of the obelisk 
gleamed already in the rays of the full moon, and here 
I related the simple story. But thou, dear reader, 
trace what will do as well as the real sarcophagus and 
the obelisk, — the inscription of the sarcophagus in the 
ashes of the past, and let the letters of the obelisk be 
imprinted upon your inmost soul with your heart's 
blood. 

Many souls drop like the flowers, yet like the spot- 
less buds, are trodden down in the common earth, and 
often lie soiled aud crushed in the print of a hoof. — 
You too were crushed, Eugenius and Rosamond! 
Tender souls like yours have their joys torn from them 
by three robbers : by the world, — whose rough grasp 
bestows nothing on their hearts but scars, — by fate, 
which takes not away the tear from the lovely eye, 
beaming with lustre, lest that lustre disappear, as we 
wipe not the moist diamond that it may not grow pale, 
— by their own hearts, which require too much, enjoy 
too little, hope too much, bear too little. «? Rosamond 
was a pure pearl, pierced by sorrow. Separated from 
her friends, she still continued to shrink under suffering, 
like a severed branch of the sensitive plant at the ap- 
proach of night ; her life was a soft genial rain, as that 
of her husband was a bright and ardent sunshine. In 
his presence she turned her eyes away from her sickly 
child, who in this life was like a light and fluttering 
butterfly under a pelting rain. The fancy of Euge- 



THE MOON. 143 

nius destroyed by its powerful flights, his too weak 
and delicate corporeal frame; his body tender as the 
hare-bell, suited not his mighty mind ; the place where 
the sigh sprung, his bosom, was destroyed like his 
happiness : he had nothing else in the world but his 
loving heart, and but two beings to fill that heart. 

They resolved in the spring to withdraw from the 
whirlpool of the world, which had dashed so coldly, 
and so unkindly against their hearts ; they caused a 
quiet hut to be prepared for them upon a lofty moun- 
tain, which lay opposite to the silver chain of the 
Stanb-bach. On the first lovely morning of spring, 
they entered upon their long journey to the mountain. 
There is a sacredness, which suffering alone can give 
and purify ; the stream of life becomes snow-white, 
when dashed against the opposing rocks of adversity. 
There is an elevation, where among ideas of sublimity, 
no trifling thought can ever mingle ; it is when placed 
upon an alpine height, we behold the summits of the 
neighbouring mountains, without observing the valleys 
that connect them together. — Thou hadst that sacred- 
ness Rosamond, — and thou that elevation Eugenius ! 

The base of the mountain was surrounded by a 
morning mist, in which three flitting spirits seemed 
suspended. It was the reflection of the three travellers, 
— the timid Rosamond was terrified, and imagined she 
beheld herself. — Eugenius thought that that which 
envelopes the mortal spirit, is only a somewhat denser 
cloud; — and the child grasped at the vapour, and 
wished to play with his brother in the mist. One soli- 
tary, invisible angel of futurity accompanied them 
through life, and upon the mountain ; they were so 
good and so like each other, that they required but 
one. At sunrise the angel opened the book of fate ; 
on one and the same leaf was traced the plan of a 
three-fold life, each line was a day ; and when the an- 



144 THE MOON* 

gel had examined that day's line, he wept, and shut the 
book for ever. 

The feeble travellers still required almost one day for 
the completion of their journey. The earth crept 
back into the valley, the heavens rested themselves upon 
the mountains. The weary and now glimmering sun 
appeared to Eugenius like the mirror of the moon ; he 
said to his beloved, as the icy summits of the moun- 
tains cast their rosy light upon the earth ; " I am so 
weary but yet so well. Shall we feel thus when we 
awaken out of those two dreams, the dream of life and 
the dream of death, when we enter the cloudless moon, 
as the first welcome shore beyond the hurricane of 
life ?" Rosamond replied ; " we shall be better, for 
the moon as thou hast taught me, is the abode of little 
children, and their parents remain there beside them, 
till they themselves become meek and calm as infants, 
and then they proceed farther in their course" — " From 
world to world, from heaven to heaven," said Euge- 
nius with enthusiasm. 

As they ascended, the sun sank ; but as they pro- 
ceeded more slowly, the mountain tops appeared like 
outstretching branches concealing the sun. They then 
hurried onward amid the decaying glimmer of the 
evening, and when they reached the mountain-hut, 
the eternal hills had obscured the monarch of the day 
— the earth had veiled her graves and cities, paying 
her adoration to heaven, ere that heaven looked down 
upon her with its starry eyes, and ere the waterfalls 
had laid aside their rain-bows, — the earth inclined 
itself towards the sky, which bent over it with its out- 
stretched cloudy arms, tinged with gold, and extended 
from mountain to mountain, — and the glaciers gleamed 
with a light which glowed till midnight, and opposite 
them upon the grave of the sun, was a funeral-pile of 
clouds raised up out of the glow #nd the ashes of the 
evening. Through the glimmering ruddy light, kind 



THE MOON. 145 

heaven caused its evening tears to fall deep down into 
the earth, even upon the meanest grave and the small- 
est floweret. 

Oh Eugenius, how great must thy soul now be- 
come ! Earthly life lay at a distance, and in the deep 
valley before thee, void of all the distortions which we 
behold in it, from viewing it too near at hand, as the 
decorative scene when too closely seen is changed from 
a landscape to a mass of shapeless lines. 

The loving pair embraced each other long and ten- 
derly before the Alpine hut, and Eugenius said : " Oh 
silent eternal heaven, take from us now nothing more !" 
But his pallid child stood with its drooping snow-drop 
head before him- — he looked at the mother, she turned 
her moist eye on high, and added softly. " Or take us 
all at once!" 

The angel of futurity, whom I will call the angel of 
rest, smiled through his tears, and with his wing dis- 
pelled upon an evening zephyr the sigh of the parents, 
that they might not make each other melancholy. 

The transparent evening floated around the rosy alp 
like the limpid ocean, and washed it with its circles of 
evening waves. The stiller the Earth and the evening 
became, the more the two souls felt they were now in 
their proper sphere : they had not a tear too many, not 
a tear too few, and their happiness required no in- 
crease save its repetition. Eugenius like a swan pour- 
ed his first harmonious tones into the clear atmosphere. 
The wearied child encompassed in a circle of flowers, 
leaned against a sun dial, and played with the flowers 
which it threw around itself, to include the dial in its 
circle. When the mother at length awoke from the 
ecstacy into which the music of her husband had thrown 
her, she caught the large eyes of her child directed to- 
wards her. With a heart overflowing with maternal 
affection she approached her little angel : — he was cold 
and — dead. His heaven-born life had like other 
13 



146 THE MOON. 

tones been dissipated in the atmosphere of the earth.— 
Death had breathed upon the butterfly, and it rose up 
out of the tempestuous streams of the air, into the ever 
peaceful aether, from the flowers of earth, to the flowers 
of Paradise. 

Flit ye always away happy children ! The angel 
of rest cradles you in the morning of life with his plain- 
tive soothing song, — two weeping mortals carry you 
and your little coffin, and with garlands of flowers let 
your body with its rosy cheeks, its unwrinkled brow, 
and its pure hands, slip down into the second cradle, 
and you have only exchanged one Paradise for ano- 
ther ; — but we, alas, we fall down beneath the destroy- 
ing tempests of life, our hearts are weary, our faces 
are furrowed with earthly anxiety and earthly sorrow, 
and yet our souls cling strongly to this clod ! 

Turn thou away from Rosamond's piercing shriek— 
her fixed look and petrified features, — if thou hast al- 
ready felt this maternal sorrow, — look not upon the 
mother, who, with senseless love, presses convulsively 
to her bosom the corpse which she can no longer hurt, 
but upon the father, whose struggling heart although 
concealed in the silence of his breast, is surrounded by 
the adder grasp of grief, and poisoned by drops from 
the serpent tooth of sorrow. Alas ! ere he could 
dispel this sorrow his heart was broken. Man 
staunches his wounds and falls a victim to the scar — 
Woman overcomes her sorrow seldom, and yet out- 
lives it. — "Remain here," said he, with a tremulous 
voice, " I will lay it at rest before the moon rises. 55 She 
said nothing, kissed it in silence, crumbled down its 
garland of flowers, — sank upon the sun-dial, and laid 
her cold cheek upon her arm that she might not see 
her child carried away. 

Meanwhile the silvery morn of the moon illumined 
the still features of the child, and the father said: 
" Break up, oh Moon, that I may see the land where 



THE MOON. 147 

he dwells, — Rise up Elysium, that I may imagine I 
behold in thee the place in which his soul resides. — 
Oh child — my darling child, — knowest thou me — 
heardest thou me, — hast thou found a countenance as 
lovely as thine own above — a face as fair ? — oh thou 
cherub's lip, thou cherub's eye! — Alas, there is now 
no spirit stirring within !" 

He spread a bed of flowers beneath the child, in- 
stead of all those things by which we are surrounded 
when laid down to rest amid the silence of the tomb, 
but his heart broke when he was about to cover the in- 
fant's pallid lips and open eyes with flowers and earth, 
and a stream of tears fell first into the grave. When 
with the green turf he had raised up the little mound, 
he felt that he was weary of his journey, and weary of 
life, and that in the thin mountain-air his breast was 
falling into ruins — the icy chill of death sat down upon 
his heart. He looked round with a longing eye for 
the wretched mother — she had long stood trembling 
behind him — and they fell, in silence, into each other's 
arms, and their eyes could scarce afford another tear. 

At length the glorious moon poured her light from 
behind a gleaming icy peak, over the speechless pair, 
and showed them its white stormless vales, and the 
glimmering light with which it tranquillizes man. — 
" Mother ! look up," said Eugenius, " there is thy son 
— behold upon the moon, the white blooming groves 
in which our boy is wandering." The father felt a 
burning fire consuming his inmost heart— his eye, from 
gazing upon the moon, grew blind to every thing 
which possessed no light — lofty images placed them- 
selves in shining streams before him, and there arose 
within him, thoughts above the level of humanity, and 
too mighty for the grasp of memory,— he heard in his 
ear, melodies like those which charm us in our dreams, 

melodies which cannot be created when awake. 

Death and delight pressed his weary tongue : " Rosa- 



148 THE MOON. 

mond, wherefore sayest thou nothing? Seest thor? 
thy child ? I look over the wide extended earth, even 
till I reach the moon : there my son flies amid angels- 
fair flowers are his cradle, the zephyr of Spring plays 
over him— -children lead him—- angels teach him — God 
loves him — oh the darling cherub, thou smilest too, 
the silver light of Paradise flies around thy little 
mouth, — thou knowest no one, and callest for thy pa- 
rents. Rosamond, give me thy hand, we will go, we 
will die." 

The weak corporeal chain became longer. His ri- 
sing spirit fluttered higher on the boundaries of life. 
He seized the astonished mother with a convulsive 
grasp, and stammered out, as his eye became blind, and 
while sinking to the ground : " Rosamond, where art 
thou — I fly — I die — let us go together !" 

His heart broke — his spirit fled — but Rosamond re- 
mained not with him, for fate tore her from his dying 
grasp, and threw her back alive upon the earth. She 
felt his hand, and when she found it deadly cold, she 
laid it softly upon her bosom, fell slowly upon her bend- 
ed knees, raised up her face, cheered beyond expres- 
sion ; towards the starry night turned her large and 
happy eyes, dry from their tearless sockets, up into 
heaven, and looked calmly around for some celestial 
form who would descend and bear her up. She firmly 
believed that she would immediately die, and in an im- 
ploring voice, said : " Come now, angel of rest, come 
take my heart and carry it to my beloved — angel of 
rest, leave me not so long with the dead. Is there no- 
thing invisible around me ? Angel of death, thou 
must be near me, for thou hast even now torn from my 
embrace, two darling souls, and allowed them to as- 
cend — I am dead too — draw my burning soul from its 
cold kneeling corpse!" 

She looked with a frantic restlessness around the 
empty sky. At that moment a star burned in its quiet 



THE MOON. 149 

wilderness, and took its arrowy course to the earth. 
Transported with joy, she extended her arms, and 
thought the angel of rest would have thrown himself 
into her embrace ; — but the star, alas ! disappeared, — 
she remained; "Not yet, — do I not die yet, merciful 
father?" sighed the poor Rosamond. 

In the east a cloud arose, — passed over the moon, — 
bent its course through the sky, and stood over the 
most tormented heart on earth. She bent back her 
head, and looking up, said with an imploring look ; 
" strike down upon my bosom, and release my soul !" 
But as the dark cloud passed over her head, descended 
through the sky, and sank behind the mountains, she 
exclaimed amid a thousand tears : " Can I not die,-— 
can I not die ?" 

Poor Rosamond ! sorrow coiled itself together, 
sprang serpent-like upon thy breast, and pressed its 
poisonous teeth within ; but a compassionate spirit 
threw the opium of insensibility over thy heart, and the 
spasms of pain were changed into a gentle thrill. 

She awoke in the morning distracted ; she still saw 
the sun and the corpse of her husband, but her eye had 
poured out all its tears, her bursting heart like a crack- 
ed bell had lost all its tones : she murmured merely, 
" wherefore can I not die ?" She returned to the hut 
cold and comfortless, but breathed nothing more than 
these words. Every night she visited half an hour la- 
ter the corpse of her Eugenius, and hit precisely the 
moment of the rising of the waning moon, and said 
while her tearless eye rested upon its decaying form, 
" wherefore can I not die ?" 

Indeed! wherefore canst thou not die sweet soul, 
^ince the cold earth has already sucked from all thy 
wounds, the hot poison wherewith the human heart is 
palsied ? But I turn my eye from this sorrow, and 
look up to the glimmering moon, where Eugenius 
opens his eves among smiling children, and his own 

13* 



150 THE MOON. 

dear boy falls fluttering upon his breast How 

silent all is in the dusky entrance of the second world, 
a rainbow of light silvers over the bright fields of the 
first heavens, and little balls of fire hang instead of the 
sparkling dew around the flowers and mountains— the 
azure of the sky* swells darker over the plains of lil- 
lies, and the tones of music are in the thin atmosphere 
but distant echoes — Night-flowers alone send forth an 
odour and waver sportively around the quiet prospect — 
there the heart is calm — there the eye is dry— there the 
wish is dumb — children flutter like humming bees 
around the breast, still throbbing and sunk amongst 
flowers, and the dream of the soul after death repre- 
sents its earthly life, as our dreams here below picture 
childhood with the glowing and magic colouring of 
perfection. 

Eugenius looked from the moon towards the Earth, 
which during the long moon-day of two earthly weeks, 
floated like a thin white cloud in the azure sky ; but he 
recognised not his old mother land. At length the 
Sun went down upon the moon, and our Earth rested 
immoveable, large and glimmering upon the pure ho- 
rizon of Elysium, and poured over the odour-breathing 
gardens its soft gleamings, like the prismatic spray ol 
the water-fall over the green meadow. Then, he re- 
cognised the world upon which he had left a sore af- 
flicted heart, and his soul although surrounded by joy, 
became filled with sadness and with ceaseless longing 
for the dear object of his former existence, who still 
mourned in that world below. " O my Rosamond ! 
wherefore fleest thou not from a globe where thou art 
no longer beloved?" and he looked beseechingly to 
the angel of Rest, and said : " Beloved ! Take me 
from this land of grief and conduct me down to my 

* The blue colour of the sky must be darker in the Moon since the 
air is more rarified, both of which may be proved upon a mountain 



THE MOON. 151 

affectionate Rosamond, that I may see her, and be the 
mournful partner of her sorrow." Then suddenly his 
soul as if freed from every bond began to fly — clouds 
fluttered around him as if they supported him in his 
flight, and swelling, carried him away and concealed 
him in their waves — he sank through the rosy glimmer 
of evening, as through blooming flowers, and through 
the succeeding gloom, as through shady groves, and 
through a moist atmosphere wherein his eye became 
full of drops — then he heard a whisper around him, 
like an almost forgotten dream of childhood — then a 
distant complaint, which became louder and louder — 
a complaint which opened up afresh his closed wounds 
—the complaint was from Rosamond's voice — at length 
she herself stood before him irrecognisable, — alone,--- 
hapless,— tearless, — colourless. 

And Rosamond dreamed on Earth, and it seemed 
to her as if the Sun took unto itself wings, and be- 
came an angel — and she thought the angel drew down 
the moon, which became a face of mildness, and un- 

I der the approaching face, a well known form at length 
appeared. It was Eugenius, and she raised herself 

! to meet him, but when wrapt with joy, she gave utter- 
ance to the exclamation — " Now I am dead!" — the 
two dreams, his and hers both vanished, and the two 
beings were once more severed. 

Eugenius awoke on high, the earth still stood glim- 

\ mering in the clear sky — his heart palpitated, his eye 
burned with a tear which had never yet fallen upon the 

'moon. — Rosamond awoke below, and a large warm 
dew-drop hung in a flower upon her bosom ; the sultry 
cloud of her soul had fallen down in a soft shower of 
tears, her heart became light and sunny, her eye hung 
softly on the dawning sky, the world was strange to 
her, but not hateful, and her hands moved as if they 
beckoned on those that were dead. 

The angel of rest looked upon the moon-— he looked 



152 THE MOON. 

upon the earth and was moved with the sighs of men ? 
he saw upon the dawning world an eclipse of the sun, 
and a forsaken being ; he saw Rosamond during the 
passing darkness, sink down among flowers, which 
closed their beauteous eyes under the gloom ; — he saw 
her stretching forth her arms towards the darkened sky 
full of fluttering night-birds, and gazing with ceaseless 
sighs upon the moon which floated trembling in the 
sun. — The angel looked upon the moon, and near him 
wept the immortal, who now beheld the world floating 
under a dark shadow, and unchained in a ring of fire, 
and from whom the weeping form still now wandered 
upon its surface, took away the whole happiness of 
heaven. While to the eye of the angel of rest, the 
heavenly heart seemed breaking, he seized the hand of 
Eugenius, and that of his child, and bore both through 
the second world down upon the dark earth. Rosa- 
mond saw three figures wandering amid the gloom, 
whose shining aspect struck upon the starry sky, and 
approached to meet them ; her husband and her child 
flew like spring zephyrs to her heart, and said with 
hastening voice, " Dearest, go with us." Her mater- 
nal heart burst with affection, her earthly blood stop- 
ped, her life was out — filled with delight, she stammered 
out, " must I yet not die ?" " Thou art already dead, 
said the compassionate angel of the three affectionate 
souls, and there stands the earthly globe out of which 
thou hast come still in darkness !" And the waves of 
celestial happiness flowed high over the world, while 
its innocent and joj^ful inhabitants looked upon our 
globe which still trembled in gloom. 

# # # # # 

Yes indeed it is in darkness. But man is higher 
than his place : he looks up, and moves the wings of 
his soul, and when the sixty minutes which we term 
Sixty years have sped their course, then he raises him- 
self, and while ascending catches fire, and the ashe^ of 



THE MOON, 253 

his feathers fall back, and the unbound spirit mounts 
alone, and immaterial as a tone into the heavens above. 
For here amid the gloom of life, man sees the moun- 
tains of a future world standing in the golden morn of 
a sun which never sets ; as the inhabitant of the north 
pole in his long night of darkness, during which that 
luminary never rises, still beholds at the meridian hour, 
a golden morning glow upon his highest mountains, 
and he thinks upon his long summer wherein that rosy 
light never departs. 






THE 



BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 



A. F. E. LANGBEIN. 



Awa 5 with your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms, 
O gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 
Then hey for the lass wi' a tocher, 
The nice yellow guineas for me. 

Burns. 

A YOUNG Englishman, from gaming, love-affairs, 
and other such gold-scattering enjoyments, had so 
nearly reached the dregs of his great-grandfather's he- 
reditary portion, that he could calculate the departing 
hour of his last guinea. As one evening he was re- 
turning home from one of those haunts of dissipation 
which he habitually frequented, feeble in body as in 
mind, and for the first time in his life, casting a firm 
look upon the ruin of his fortune, he could not well 
determine, whether he should end his troubles by 
drawing a trigger, or by throwing himself into the 
Thames. 

While he thus wavered between fire and water, the 
very profound idea occurred to him, not to lay violent 
hands upon himself, but to allow himself to be con- 
ducted out of the labyrinth of poverty by the fair hand 



THE BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 155 

of some wealthy bride. With this consoling thought, 
he went to bed, and already in his nocturnal visions 
the rapid racers flew, the fair girls frisked around him, 
both of which, he was happy in thinking he might 
maintain in future, upon the dowry of his wife. 

_ On the following morning, he reflected anew upon 
his plan, and found it unexceptionable in every point 
excepting the very slight circumstance of not knowing 
when or where he was to find the rich heiress he want- 
ed. In London, where all the world regarded him as 
a spendthrift, it was not once to be thought of. He 
saw that for the future, he must throw his nets out else- 
where. 

After much cogitation and searching, he at last hit 
upon an old rich colonel, living upon his own estate, 
about twenty miles from the capital, who fortunately 
had no acquaintances in London, and was the father of 
an only daughter. 

Into the house of this gentleman, by means of a 
friend, to whom he promised half the booty, he got him- 
self introduced and received. The daughter of the 
colonel was an awkward country girl, with round chub- 
by cheeks like Reuben's cherubims, and looked parti- 
cularly odd in the hand-me-down attire of her sainted 
mother, which did not at all fit her, and was of course 
not of the most fashionable cut. Her mind, too, was 
as attractive as her attire. She could only talk of hens 
and geese, and when any other topic came above 
board, her conversation was limitted to a " yes, yes,'" 
or a " no, no ;" all beyond this seemed to her sinful. 

This wooden puppet was indeed a mighty contrast 
to the sprightly, gay, and lively nymphs with whom 
the young Briton had, until this period, been toying : 
but he carefully confined to the solitude of his own 
bosom, the disagreeable feeling of this heaven-and- 
earth distant difference. His flattering tongue called 
the girl's silliness, celestial innocence, and her red 



156 THE BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 

swollen cheeks, he likened to the beauty of the full- 
blown damask rose. The end of the song was, he 
turned to the father and sued warmly for his daughter's 
hand. 

The Colonel, during his sixty year's career through 
the world, had collected this much knowledge of man- 
kind, that however slyly the young man had masked 
himself, he could, nevertheless, discover the fortune- 
hunter peeping through the disguise. At first, there- 
fore, he thought of peremptorily refusing him permis- 
sion to woo his daughter, but on the other hand he 
thought, " the youth is fashionable, and perhaps I may 
be doing him injustice ; he, as yet, betrays no anxiety 
about the portion, and why should the girl, who is mar- 
riageable, remain longer at home. His request shall 
be granted, — -but his apparent disinterestedness shall 
stand a decisive trial." 

The suitor was then informed that the father had no 
objections to the match, provided his daughter would 
give her eonsent, and she — poor thing, replied as in 
duty bound — " My father's will is mine !" Indeed, 
could any thing else be expected ? 

In the course of a few weeks, the marriage ceremony 
was performed at the country-house of the Colonel, 
and he instantly made his son-in-law acquainted with 
his wife's portion, which in German money might 
amount to thirty thousand dollars. The dissembler 
acted as if he wished to know nothing about the mat- 
ter, and solemnly vowed that he had not, as yet, 
thought on such things, but had regarded only the no* 
ble qualities of his charming wife, whose pure self was 
dearer to him than all the treasures of the world. 

Upon this they set down to table, and the father-in- 
law urged and begged, that they would make as much 
haste as possible, as it was his intention that the young 
married people should set off that very afternoon for 
London, and that he should accompany them. 



THE BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 157 

The son-in-law was confounded, and began to make 
some excuses about travelling on the first day of his 
happiness, but the soldier maintained that these were 
futile, assuring him that he had particular reasons for 
proceeding forthwith to the capital, and that his matri- 
monial joys would be as well realized in London as in 
the country. — What was to be done ? — Why, the jour- 
ney was immediately undertaken. The old man se- 
cured in a small casket, before the eyes of the bride- 
groom, the portion of the bride, partly in gold and 
partly in bank notes, took it under his arm, and placed 
himself by the side of the young people in the carriage. 

The road ran through a forest, and scarcely had they 
fairly entered it, when two horsemen darted out from 
the brush-wood with masks upon their faces, and stop- 
ped the carriage. One of the persons watched the pos- 
tillion with a presented pistol, while the other approach- 
ed the coach window, and said : " We are adventurers 
and request you to give us up instantly the portion of 
the bride !" 

The Colonel and his son-in-law, swore and ranted, 
but the robber coolly insisted upon his demand. After 
some parleying however, the horseman bent towards the 
young man and whispered in his ear ! " That you 
may see we are most reasonable men, we leave you the 
choice of two things, — give us either the bride or her 
portion ! For certain reasons it is quite immaterial to 
us, and moreover no one shall ever know your decision.' 5 

The bridegroom did not think long about the matter 
for he whispered : " take the bride !" " Brother," cried 
the robber to his accomplice : " We shall take the 
bride!" 

In the twinkling of an eye, the Soldier siezed his 
gentle son-in-law by the neck, shook him violently, 
and exclaimed with a thundering voice, "Ha ! villain ! 
So my conjecture was not unfounded, that you cared 
not for my daughter but merely for her fortune ! God 
14 * 



158 THE bridegroom's probation. 

be praised, that my child and my money are not yet ir- 
revocably in your clutches ; know then, knave ! the 
man who married you, was no Clergyman, he was a 
brother Soldier in priest's attire, and these Gentlemen 
are no highwaymen, but friends who have done me the 
service of proving you. Since then you have laid open 
your whole vileness, we shall have no more connection. 
I shall return home with my daughter and my money, 
and you may go to London, or to the devil !" 

With these words he transplanted the astonished 
bridegroom with a kick, from the carriage to the road, 
and ordered the postillion to turn about. The outlaw 
trudged back to London, and had while upon the road, 
the fairest and best opportunity of determining whether 
he should now use a pistol or throw himself into the 
river. 



THE BROKEN LEG, 



A. F. E. LANGBEIN. 



Go fetch a quart of Sack ; put a toast in't, 
Well, if I be served such another trick, 111 
Have my brains ta en out and buttered, 
And give them to a dog for a new year's gift. 

Shakspeare. 

BoNNARD appeared at all times, and every where, 
before mid-day, a prudent and amiable man, but after 
dinner, and in the evening, he was not always precise- 
ly so. In fact, he was a true son of the ancient Ger- 
mans, so often reproached for a love of drinking, and 
knew no greater enjoyment, than that of singing 
amidst convivial friends, the inspiring songs of " En- 
joy the charm of life" — " With laurel crown the flow- 
ing bowl," and in emptying out a flask of good old 
Hochheimer, as an accompaniment. Had he been 
satisfied with one flask, nobody would have had a right 
to say aught against him, especially as his income 
permitted it ; but one flask ever and anon called for 
another, coupled with the proverb, " that a man can- 
not stand upon one leg," or " that three all the world 
over is a lucky number." Alas ! he was not at a loss 
to find wise saws and proverbs, as an excuse for a 
fourth, fifth, and even a sixth flask. 

The mother, sisters, and brothers, with whom he 
resided, had the mortification of seeing him return 



160 THE BROKEN LEG, 

home almost every night, perfectly intoxicated. Their 
most urgent remonstrances were fruitless, and they be- 
gan to think that his drunkenness was incurable, 
Laura, Bonnard' s sweetheart, thought so too, for after 
innumerable little quarrels, a complete breach was at 
length made between the two lovers, who indeed were 
almost as much as betrothed. 

From that moment he sank deeper. He had until 
this time, from a respect to Laura, maintained at least 
the outward appearance of good manners, but now he 
became a shameless and notorious drunkard. No 
night passed, that he had not a scuffle with watchmen, 
or slept off his intoxication in a round-house. His 
health thereby began visibly to be injured, and his 
fortune to melt away. In short, he was upon the 
brink of ruin. 

Two of his friends, who, although they often drank 
with him, always kept themselves within the bounds of 
moderation, were much grieved at his conduct, and re- 
solved to reclaim the drinker, by a method not the 
most common in the world. With this view they one 
evening accompanied Bonnard to a public wine-cellar, 
and appeared in particularly high spirits. Bonnard's 
favourite Hochheimer, was called for, and they encou- 
raged him to quaff as much of it as he liked, and that 
was no small dose. He drank himself into the clouds. 

Towards midnight, the two friends began to yawn, 
shut their eyes, and seemed to fall asleep. Bonnard 
was delighted, for he could now drink another flask 
without being reproved by them. Before however he 
had finished it, intoxication reached its highest pitch, 
and he at length fell, deprived of reason, into a sound 
and death-like sleep. 

His friends instantly started up from their pretended 
slumber, shook and jogged him, and to their great joy 
found that he exhibited no symptoms of wakefulness. 
By a sign which was previously agreed upon, they 



THE BROKEN LEG, 161 

now called in a surgeon, who was waiting in the ad- 
joining apartment. He immediately entered, bringing 
with him splints and other implements for a broken leg, 
and soon laced up the right limb of the sleeper, as 
tightly as if it had been most dangerously fractured. 
Upon this they sprinkled water upon his face, and 
gave a fearful thundering cry. 

The sleeper started up — seized instantly his leg 
which the splints squeezed, and wished to rise from the 
chair ; his friends however held him fast, crying out, 
" Unfortunate man! stir not — you have received a 
dangerous contusion. We had scarcely fallen asleep 
till in attempting to go down stairs, you fell, broke 
your leg, and fainted. Upon that we awakened, 
raised you up, and caused you to be dressed. In 
heaven's name ! stir not for your life ! We have or- 
dered a litter, and it will be here immediately to carry 
you home.' 5 

Bonnard was delirious ; — his fancy magnified the 
pressure of the splints to be the pain of a real broken 
limb, and never once imagining that he was deceived, 
permitted himself to be borne home lamenting. 

There, his family received hirn as was concerted, 
with tears and wailings. For four weeks he conti- 
nued to be visited by the surgeon, who kept his leg 
squeezed into a case, so that he could not move him- 
self, nor even entertain a suspicion of his own perfect 
health. So long an imprisonment was unbearable ; — 
he cursed wine as the cause of his misfortunes, and 
made a solemn vow never to get drunk in future. 

At the expiration of a month, the surgeon informed 
him the cure was completed. He went as if upon eggs 
to save his broken leg, and his first walk was to the 
house of his sweetheart, whom he anxiously entreated 
to forget the past, and once more to reinstate him in 
her affections. She promised both on condition of a 
temperate year's probation. He kept it manfully, and 
14* 



162 THE BROKEN LEG. 

then became the husband of his Laura, and continued 
during the course of his life, an orderly, respectable 
man, who never at any one time drank more than he 
could carry. 

After several years, Bonnard for the first time, dis- 
covered the trick that had been played upon him ; he 
thanked his friends heartily for it, and began once 
more to tread firmly on his right leg, the straining of 
which he had always until then most carefully avoided* 



THE 



HAUNTED CASTLE 



AUGUSTUS LA FONTAINE, 



Auream quisquis mediocritatem 
Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti 
Sordibus tecti ; caret invidenda, 
Sobrius aula. 

Horace, lib. ii. od. x, 

Annette had come with her brother Herr Trail- 
gott Lehman to the baths at Ems, and while he on the 
night of their arrival, was reading aloud a description 
of the baths and the surrounding scenery, and had 
hit upon a highly poetical account of the neighbour- 
ing mountain with its enchanting ruins, and a popular 
story of a castle-spirit which haunted it, — Annette 
started up and exclaimed ; "I will go thither to-mor- 
row morning." On the following morning therefore, 
the lovely girl lightly dressed, — a straw bonnet over 
her luxuriant hair, and attended by a maid who car- 
ried provisions for the day, ascended the mountain, but 
saw none of the beauties which were detailed in the 
description. In the Ruins however she met two 
ypung men 'who politely entered into conversation 
with her. 




164 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

Annette answered with perfect good humour, kind- 
ly, and quite innocently. One of the two took her 
hand which she willingly gave ; but when after this 
very unceremonious introduction he wished to take 
more than the most harmless innocence would permit, 
to his astonishment he received from the young heroine 
a smart slap — " What?" cried he, angrily, — " yet thou 
shalt." At that instant a third young man entered the 
Ruins, and Annette exclaimed, " There comes my 
Brother." 

"What. is the matter?" cried he, "What is the 
matter Sister ? What do you want gentlemen ?" 

The gentlemen drew their hats scornfully over their 
brow, but two large English dogs appearing, they 
went whistling and laughing down the mountain,, and 
sang a guadeamns when they reached the bottom. 

" Well Sister ?" 

Annette replied blushing, — " I only took the liberty 
of saying so, my dear Sir ; and I thank you heartily 
for permitting it," added she, offering him her hand. 

Annette now told him that it was the story of the 
Castle-spirit that had attracted her to the mountain ; 
" and really," continued she, smiling and looking him 
in the face, " the dark quiet gloom of a thick forest is 
well suited to the world of spirits, — Don't you think 
so ? — and the sweet terror." — " You love the world of 
spirits, Sister ?" " Why yes ! — We are indeed as much 
at home in it as in real life, — don't you think so ? 
For what is Life even at its best ? Labour, pleasure, 
smiling, talking ; — I might almost say nothing. But in 
the still night, the better world, — aye the better world 
arises. There is heaven with its thousand bright eyes, 
the stars, and from the wood there comes the tones of 
Herr Goldmann's flute ; then there arises in my bosom a 
calmer and a lovelier world ; and although they are but 
dreams which then occupy my thoughts,*yet they arr 
more pleasing than life,™ don't you think so ?" 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE* 165 

"Worthy Sister," cried the young man, rising up 
with great emotion from the rock upon which they 
were sitting, " 'Tis very true, 'tis very true ! But this 
life also is Icvely !" said he, sitting down again, " in 
truth it is lovely ! very lovely !" while he looked at the 
girl seriously. 

He now remarked for the first time the beautiful oval 
of her countenance, her clear blue eyes beaming be- 
neath arches of the darkest brown, the laughing dim- 
ples in the fresh roses of her cheeks, — her love-inspiring 
mouth, — her graceful, youthful, slender figure. 

He accompanied her through the ruins, and after an 
hour of lively tittle-tattle, learned that she had entered 
upon her eighteenth year, that she lived among the 
mountains of Waldweiler, not far from Heidelberg, and 
that this expedition to Ems was her first entrance into 
the world. — She now took a flask of wine and some 
bread from the basket of her attendant, covered a por- 
tion of rock with & cloth, and invited her friend with 
the kindest looks to the table, who made indeed a feast 
like that of the gods, and while he left her just before 
entering Ems with a tender pressure of the hand, and 
with these words — " Farewell, dearest sister Annette, 
Farewell !" she remained standing as long as she could 
see him. It now occurred to her with sorrow that she *& 
had not asked him to pay her a visit at Waldweiler ;\ 
and her smooth brow became wrinkled when she re- 
collected that she had never once thought of asking his 
name, — " for he is so good — so mild ! I shall often, 
often think of him." Saying these words she entered the 
room where her brother was sitting. 

" Of whom, Annette ?" asked he. 
. Annette related her little adventure. 

" Thou shouldest have asked him." 

" Yes indeed ! And no one is so sorry at the neg- 
lect as myself." 

[* And the Castle-spirit, there, Annette f" 



166 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

" He did not laugh like you brother, when I told 
him of our Castle-spirit." 

" Thou art a little fool, for all the Staff-trumpeter 
says." 

" He did not laugh, Traugott, like you." 

The story of Waldweiler was this.-— Traugott had 
purchased a small property near Waldweiler, upon 
which he lived. The village, his barns, and cattle- 
yard, lay upon the other side of a brook, about a mile 
from his dwelling-house. The vilkge was not for him ; 
for it was a catholic one, and Traugott was a zealous 
Protestant. On the other side, lay an old Pheasant- 
walk ; the small house was kept in good repair, but the 
little wood, which formerly served as a cover to the 
pheasants, was now changed into fields and gardens. 
In the house, the overseer of the pheasants, Herr Gold* 
mann lived, along with his young wife and a brother, 
who as a staff-trumpeter, had lost a leg in the field, and 
spent in quietness, his small pensionffcwith his brother. 

Herr Traugott made frequent visits here. The three 
men pleased each other, but the trumpeter, with his 
stories of the wars, and his mild disposition, (for he had 
now nothing remaining of the life he had led, except 
his pension, and his music, which seemed to afford him 
unceasing delight,) was the soul of the trio. 

Between the pheasant walk, and Traugott' s dwel- 
ling, lay a wild rocky place, surrounded by a thick 
wood of oaks, and between the rocks lay a ruin, not 
much decayed, which had however remained uninha- 
bited for a considerable time. It belonged, together 
with the wood, to a Herr Von Hagenbruch, and the 
story went, that one brother had murdered another, 
since which the castle had remained unoccupied. A 
high stone cross, with an effaced inscription, points out 
the spot where the blood was spilled, and beneath the 
cross, which unfortunately stands at the entrance of the 
wood, the whole country said, that every night the 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 167 

spirit of the murdered brother took its seat. Although 
Herr Traugott laughed at the story, still he went al- 
ways as far round from the entrance of the wood as 
any one. 

Traugott had taken his step-sister Annette, a child of 
three years of age, home to his own house. Madame 
Goldmann had had a daughter, who, after a very long 
deliberation of both families, who had become daily 
more and more intimate, and after the final opinion 
of the staff-trumpeter, who without being aware of it, 
had fallen a little into the sentimental, received the 
name of Selena. Heaven knows where he had picked 
up the Grecian name. 

" A boy is now all that is wanted," cried the staff- 
trumpeter, tenderly to his sister-in-law. 

To the boy, the three friends drank one flask of old 
Bergstrasser, another, and again another, till Traugott 
at length, much gayer than usual, rose up about mid- 
night to go home. 

" Take care of the Castle-spirit," cried the trumpe- 
ter to him, "for some wood-thieves a few nights ago, 
saw a light in the valley, and heard singing." 

Traugott raised up his stick, and exclaimed coura- 
geously, " Fools ! — I will go straight up to the cross 
itself, in spite of the spirit!" — and he kept his word. 

But when he turned in that direction, and saw under 
the cross, a white figure sitting, his foot became rooted 
to the spot. 

u Who is there ?" said a pitiful voice. 

" Traugott !" cried he, trembling, trusting more to 
his Christian than to his paternal name. 

The figure approached and said : '* There, take 
what you have this day wished for, — a boy ; keep him 
as your own son !" 

In an instant he had a child in his arms, and the 
figure disappeared behind the cross. 

When Traugott again recovered his senses, he 



168 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

said softly, " some roguish trick, no doubt !" but still 
he went far about to avoid the enchanted spot, and got 
home he knew not how. 

"Blockhead that I am!" cried he, as he went into 
his room, but the appearance of the sleeping boy, was 
so sweet and so calm, that it soothed him immediately* 

He laid him in the bed which the trumpeter occu- 
pied when he remained at night, and on the following 
morning they arrived at Goldmann's, agreeable to an 
invitation. 

Traugott told his story, and put in the word 
"knaves," a dozen times during the relation. 

" How could the lady know 7 what we were wishing 
for ?" said the trumpeter. 

" She has heard ! she has heard ! for you roared 
as loud as your own trumpet." 

Be that as it may — -the boy was there, an angel to 
boot, prattling sweetly in broken German, at which 
Traugott was vexed anew, but with such a musical in- 
sinuating voice as made all well again : the boy called 
himself Julio, from which the trumpeter, who had per- 
formed at the Opera in Munich was satisfied that he 
was an Italian. His soft blue eyes contradicted it. 
Enough, the boy was there, and on Selena's baptismal 
day the three honest men drank to the health of Sele- 
na and Julio, and at last also to the health of the white 
lady of the castle. 

The hearts of the old people were more and more 
closely united. They were good souls, and the devil 
found among them no bosom full of envy, no head full 
of proud learning ; nor in either house any pompous- 
display of furniture, where he could lay his egg of ha- 
tred, and even had he found the smallest place to lay 
it, the trumpeter with his mild disposition, or the three 
affectionate children with their ardent love for each 
other, would have made it a wind-egg. 

Goldmann and Traugott played draughts ; the young 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 169 

housewife sat near them, looking on kindly, and be- 
wailing the fate of him who lost ; the trumpeter lay 
beneath the lime-tree with his flute, or in the evening 
with his horn ; the three children — three very cherub's, 
played around him, attempting the first note of every 
tune, teased him continually, but loved him without 
measure. 

Years thus passed on, for the honest people never 
thought that any thing else could belong to this life, 
but being happy and loving one another. But Trau- 
gott, who sometimes thought a little more, cried one 
day, "Julio should now read!" And when Julio 
stared at him, he proceeded and said, " that the white 
lady, be she who she may, had commanded him to act 
towards the boy as a father, and the young man is now 
six years of age and cannot read ! — And of the Heidel- 
berg Catechism — it is a shame — to know nothing. 

The nearest village was too far distant; and the 
trumpeter took upon himself to teach the young peo- 
ple as well as he could, but he blushed when he thought 
how little he could teach them. 

Traugett's anger disappeared, but the trumpeter's 
zeal did not. Julio was ashamed at Traugott's re- 
proaches. He learned the letters along with Annette. 
The reward of their diligence was a fairy tale or a 
ghost story. When Annette and Julio could read — 
oh thou worthy man with thy wooden leg ! — he had 
for a long time heard the players declaim at Munich, 
and declamation to him was reading, — so he read be- 
fore the children, first a monologue from a prose tra« 
gedy, and then iambics from Schiller's Don Carlos ; 
plays were the only books that were in the house ; the 
trumpeter had brought them home along with him. 

The trumpeter always stopped in his lessons, till the 
three children could read properly the foregoing pas- 
sage. Like a music-master, he pardoned not the least 
unclearness of voice ; no lisp, no hollow tone. He 
15 



170 THE HAUNTED CASTLE- 

made use of his flute also at the reading, and he 
thought that should be done. In short, when he held, 
in presence of the old people, his first examination, 
which consisted of a few scenes from Don Carlos, their 
eyes swam with tears of joy, and their hearts beat with 
the warmest emotion. 

" But the catechism ?" cried Traugott. 

"I do what I can." 

" Leave it to the trumpeter, Traugott, if he, with a 
heart wherein God has indeed a habitation does not 
make the children pious, who could do so ?" 

The brothers extended towards him their hands, and 
the whole education of the children was henceforth so- 
lemnly given up to the old soldier. 

" With all my heart !" cried the trumpeter, spring- 
ing up and pressing the children to his overflowing 
heart. ; 

What he had in his heart, and happily he had every- 
thing that was amiable in it, he participated with his 
pupils. An hundred times had he felt that music was 
a ladder, upon which angels descended to men, and 
men ascended to angels ; and often had he felt when 
he put his flute to his lips, and when the still night 
hung over his head, how courageously he stepped to 
the very entrance of the wood, reconciled even with 
the angry spirits. He felt, only he did not say so, 
how much more valuable than the Heidelberg Cate- 
chism, which he never rightly comprehended, how 
much more valuable it was, when he stood with the 
children waiting on the height for the rising of the 
sun, and when he put his horn to his mouth, while his 
eyes and those of his pupils pervaded the scenes that 
lay below them ; and tuned their voices to " Praise the 
Lord," with hands that clasped of their own accord, 
with eyes in which tears were trembling. Then he 
saw the angel visibly rising with the sun, and descend- 
ing upon his beams, — then he threw his horn upon the 
ground and his knees along with it, while the children 




THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 171 

kneeled around him. Or when in the evening, the full 
moon rose over the silent plain, and threw her silvery 
light over the trembling brook, when Annette, but ten 
years old, beautiful as Darthula, raised her soft voice 
and sang, " lovely art thou daughter of Heaven, 
charming in the calmness of thy countenance ! lovely 
thou comest forth!" — then all of them cast down a 
longing look towards the valley, the quiet abode of 
spirits. 

They were all now satisfied with the education of 
the children ; even Traugott cried, " I cannot conceive 
how the children speak so well. There must have 
been something remarkable put into them." He knew 
not that they spoke the sacred words of poetry, even 
because they were poets. It was not once remarked, 
that either nature or the trumpeter had given them the 
finest voices, and the most correct ears for harmony : 
nor had any one noticed that they all sung easily from 
the notes, — that Julio played the flute well, and that 
the girls touched the piano-forte, (which had been pro- 
cured at common cost,) with very considerable feeling. 
And what was much better, from copying music, they 
also learned to write. Annette must keep her father's 
register, and all that Traugott said of the register was, 
that the girl had a pretty hand." And Annette had 
two of the prettiest hands in the world, though no one 
remarked them. 

The girls grew up, without any one having said 
" how beautiful they were." The devil might have 
watched for that, but in vain. Julio never once said 
so ; for the poor youth knew it not. In his fourteenth 
year, the staff-trumpeter placed him upon horseback, 
and exercised him as hard as if he had been about to 
enter the hussars immediately. 

The girls superintended the household matters. The 
kitchen, the garden, and the table, they attended to, 
because all the world did so. Then off to the haunted 



172 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

valley, in the direction of Goldmann's or Traugott' s% 
— They were truly happy. 

Traugott, who as has been said, had his peculiari- 
ties, and looked more than the others into futurity, had 
desired his friends, that Julio should go under the 
name of Annette's brother. The pheasant-inspector, 
who thought of nothing at all, and the Staff-trumpeter, 
who thought on no other futurity, save a sinful one, 
had no objection to it; and it was therefore natural, 
that all the affections which fair nature called forth in 
the heart of Julio, were poured out upon Selena. 

This love-affair, however, held its course over so 
even a bed, and encountering only flowers which bloom- 
ed upon its banks, raised so few waves, that its exist- 
ence was neither apparent to the lovers, nor to the old 
people. 

Julio and Annette were eighteen, and Selena fifteen, 
when Herr Traugott went with Annette to Ems, to dis- 
pel a fit of the gout. 

This was a journey round the world. For three 
days, the little society were occupied with taking fare- 
wells. Their hearts had become so tender, that Trau- 
gott would have almost come out of the carriage. 

"Alas!" said Julio, "Alas Selena, how shall we 
pass the four weeks ?" 

" I cannot imagine," said Selena. And although 
every day that they were alone, shed down a thousand 
heavenly feelings upon the lovers, and their hearts ex- 
perienced more and more transporting presentiments, 
— for love for the first time had moved in their bosoms 
his golden wings, — still they sighed at the close of 
every day for Annette — their absent Annette. 

At the end of four weeks, Annette returned; she 
brought along with her at least ten new fashions, a hun- 
dred new, perfectly new representations of the world, 
and of its inhabitants, particularly of the men, all of 
whom, believe me, Selena, an honourable girl cannot 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 173 

be too careful. " But," continued she, — and now her 
eye, her cheek, and her bosom seemed glowing with 
animation, " but I must except one, don't you think 
so, brother, — my mountain companion ? Oh Selena, 
oh mother, and you, Herr Staff-trumpeter, could I but 
describe to you, the amiable and sympathising look of 
his large clear eyes, and how they met mine, when I 
told him of our happiness, or give you an idea of the 
lovely and winning tones of his heart-touching voice, 
soft as the echo from the distant rock ! Could I but 
paint to you the happiness I felt, when he gently 
pressed my hand, and when I sat close by him upon 
the narrow rock ! Alas, I believe I know what all of 
you are ignorant of." 

" I know it Annette !" blundered out Selena. 

"It is my opinion Annette is in love with the un- 
known," said the mother, smiling. Annette blushed. 
Selena accompanied her. Both hearts were touched 
at the same moment. 

The two girls went away arm in arm ; they looked 
at each other with beaming, divining, and foreboding 
eyes, took one another in their arms and blushed anew ; 
but the lovely blush of modesty veiled the sweet secret. 
Now every thing about the three young people had 
got wings ; their walking, their singing, their speaking ; 
their fancies, their feelings, their dreams by day and 
night. 

The staff-trumpeter could not conceive, how, all at 
once, Julio's soul was filled with aspirations after fame 
and mighty deeds. He would, like Huon, go to Bag- 
dad ; like the Knight-templar, he would make a pilgri- 
mage to the Holy Sepulchre ; he knew no other heroes 
so romantic. He strolled farther from home than usual, 
and returned continually with a full heart. 

One day he bent his steps boldly into the haunted 
valley, to see the spirit. All was still and solitary. He 
approached the Castle — with secret horror he entered it 
15* 



174 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

— opened a door that led into a furnished room, but 
which from the thick dust that covered every thing, must 
have been long untenanted ; he entered another room, 
and upon the window-glass saw these words scratched ; 
" Farewell, Julio !" The sight of this, the motionless 
stillness of every thing around, and the twilight gloom 

of the dismal apartment for the gothic windows 

were covered with ivy, filled him with sudden fear ; he 
opened a window, to have but a glimpse of the clear 
sky, when lo ! there sounded a clear tone behind him 
— the string of a guitar had snapped from the inrushing 
air — he started and fled. He thought he heard a voice 
calling " Julio ! Julio !" but it was only his fancy. He 
hurried home, but spoke not of his adventure. 

In his rambles a few days afterwards, he met a young 
man who had lost his.way in the wood ; his road leading 
through Waldweiler, he and Julio went on together. 

The stranger came to close quarters with his com- 
panion, but knew not very well what to make of a young 
man whose speech was so polished, but whose fancy 
was so wild. 

Near to Waldweiler they were met by the two girls. 
If the stranger was astonished at Julio, he was still 
more so at the appearance of Annette and Selena. 
Their dress was quite out of the fashion, nay almost 
fantastic, and yet withal was peculiarly becoming, 
while their conversation though replete with the finest 
feelings, was at times very odd and singular ; — the girls 
however were Venuses, and the innocent confidence 
and unsuspecting cordiality with which they talked, 
roused his best feelings. They came up with the 
Staff-trumpeter. The young man on the way had his 
attention divided between Annette and Selena ; but at 
last it seemed as if he had fallen into deep thought ; 
for before the threshold of the house his foot slipped, 
" as if he were conscious of doing something bad," 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 115 

said Annette to Julio, on their return home in the 
evening. 

He avoided the look of the innocent Selena's pa- 
rents, but they were even as innocent and unsuspecting 
as their child. They received him heartily, begged 
him to remain all night, and Julio entreated most, for 
his heart warmed towards the young man, merely be- 
cause he was a man. 

Annette asked the stranger's name. She did not 
wish to commit her former fault. He stammered, and 
then replied in a hesitating voice : — " My name is Hu- 
nold!" 

The family of Traugott separated as usual from the 
other, in the evening, and Hunold, who along with 
Selena had escorted Annette home, returned alone on 
one of the loveliest of summer evenings. 

With the most harmless innocence, the lovely girl 
accompanied by her graceful companion, chose not 
the nearest road home, and during their walk told him 
the connexion which linked the two families together, 
and answered his various questions, not put without an 
object, with the strictest fidelity. 

In the stranger's bosom something gloomy raged. 
So much innocence, so much beauty, such bewitching 
confidence he had never seen before. The fair Selena 
was even already as if she had long been the object of 
his affections. 

On the following morning he was requested anew 
to spend another day, and Selena asked him so pres- 
singly that he consented. In return, Selena showed 
him the whole beauties of the neighbourhood — the val- 
ley of the Spirit — Traugott' s house, the height for the 
morning praise, the hill where Annette saluted the 
moon with the song of Ossian. 

She must indeed sing him the song — No ! he had 
never heard such singing. 

She then drew a picture- of their happy life* — No i 



176 THE HAUNTED CASTLE* 

he had never seen such happy people, and even whilr 
he thought so, and while he cast a look of inward emo- 
tion upon Selena, he resolved that the lovely girl 
should become his prize, and — the miscreant ! Thou 
wouldst make the happy miserable ! 

The stranger was the Freiherr Von Plantau, a hand- 
some man, who had learnt and practised in the gay 
world all the arts of seduction. In his own circle he 
was considered highly educated, generous, and a man 
of honour too. Rich he was not, for his father who 
was still alive, had in the struggle after renown and 
rank, dissipated the greater part of his hereditary 
property : the son sought to regain it. 

At mid-day, Von Plantau, the trumpeter, and Sele- 
na proceeded to Traugott's, and when near the house, 
Annette flew towards the latter, exclaiming, "we have 
got a visiter also — the stranger from Ems ; his name is 
Rauch, a pretty name, is it not f" 

The parties approached. The stranger from Ems 
in a light hunting dress, stretched out his hand with a 
peculiar emotion, to the trumpeter, and said, " I have 
been delighting myself for six weeks in the prospect of 
this hour :" — And then becoming still more moved, 
added, " and all I see and hear around me, gracious 
God!" The staff-trumpeter blushed, but in ten mi- 
nutes Rauch and he were friends, and the former said 
to Annette : " Oh what a heart he has ! — Now I con- 
ceive it. — Oh yes. — Now I can conceive it !" 

The Freiherr and Rauch, who begged both families 
to call him by his Christian name " George," recog- 
nised one another immediately as fashionable men ; 
they conducted themselves agreeably towards each 
other ; but the Freiherr avoided as much as possible 
the eye of the other, who often threw a look of earnest- 
ness upon him when occupied with Selena. Von 
Plantau wished George at the devil, and as he still re- 
mained, he resolved to go himself. 




THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 177 

Von Plantau upon his return, told Selena's mother 
that he had a small but valuable property near Cob- 
lentz, but that he would rather have lost that property 
altogether, than the fortunate circumstances that made 
him acquainted with her and her daughter. "We will 
see," thought he, " what fruit this will bring forth !" 

On the following morning, after a very tender part- 
ing with Selena, he took leave of his kind hosts. — A 
pleasant journey to you, knave ! 



LETTER FROM GEORGE TO DOCTOR STEIGER. 

I ask myself often, my dear doctor, is it a dream or 
is it reality ? It is well I wrote to you from Ems ; for 
now I may be perhaps silent altogether. But no ! 
for I am determined to tell you at once every thing 
that happened to me during the eight years you were 
in Russia. You know my mother's brother, the noble 
colonel. I entered the world gaily and thoughtlessly, 
like every young fellow, but I soon enough discovered 
how few of the plans of a youthful high-beating heart 
prove successful. " What have you to do with this 
scoundrel" ? — or, " with that ragamuffin ?" said my un- 
cle — " What does it signify to you how the merciful 
God regulates his world ? In the situation in which 
you are placed put your trust in heaven, and build up- 
on virtue as a foundation, a paradise within your own 
bosom for yourself and others around you. Of this 
alone will the angel of death demand an account, 
and not of the good fortune or the success, of man- 
kind." 

I lost courage, I wished to return to my solitude, 
but my uncle said to me anew ; " George you are 
born to work, to labour for your support — make choice 
of a profession. You must do so immediately!" 



178 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

I chose the sword.— The Colonel was pleased at my 
choice, though he grumbled. I fought by his side, and 
had the inexpressible pleasure of saving his life. Oh 
Steiger ! dare I speak to you of it. — In the morning 
when the rising dust declared the approach of the foe 
— when a gust of wind again dispelled that dust, and 
in the bright beams of a morning sun the army stood 
in blazing pomp upon the height — when the three sig- 
nal guns gave the fearful word for slaughter, and death 
in a thousand horrid shapes raged furiously over the 
wide extended field of blood and carnage, and when 
the whole line of cavalry — I along with them, -dashed 
forward like destruction's withering blast — then in the 
proud conviction of human power, I felt a moment 
truly happy. — And the victory! — Oh my friend, is 
there a more ecstatic moment than this ? I know 
none. — But then the field of battle — the groans and 
parting sighs of dying warriors ! — 

I was thankful for the peace — I devoted myself to 
the study of the law — my uncle wished it. — " Do what 
thou canst George !" I interested myself for an inno- 
cent child of misfortune, whose destruction was sought ; 
I pointed out injustice to the judge — the victim of per- 
secution was saved. 

I was led however into a snare which I could hard- 
ly see, and so received my dismissal, " 'Tis as it ought 
to be," said my uncle, " 'Tis as it ought to be, George." 

I loved a girl — I was beloved — I waited upon her — 
she received me coldly. Her father told me, that with 
my principles, no girl could venture to give me her 
hand. The devil ! — with the principles of probity ? 
But it wa.s even so, I was requested to stay away. 

" Pooh ! pooh ! — Thank God, George," said the 
Colonel, " yet if there is happiness on earth, it is to be 
found in the love of an innocent wife, and amiable 
children" — he wiped a tear from his eye, — he himself 
bad lost a faithful wife, and an only son. 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 179 

" Go upon your travels," continued he, " for the mi- 
sery is, that girls love men more for their professions, 
their titles, their large houses, and their honours, than 
for their hearts ; at the most, they love only the love 
which man feels towards them, not the man himself — 
only the follies of love, not love itself— only the vows 
of fidelity, not fidelity itself. The love of woman is 
like a comedy — the curtain drops when it arrives at 
matrimony. Alas ! I once found a woman, George — 
my dear Fredrica ! oh ! my darling boy !" 

He said this, and I departed. Three years after ? 
on my return home, I met upon the mountain at Ems 
with that sweet girl of whom I wrote you. 

I had resolved not to see the girl again ; and even 
though my uncle — he wears the chains over which he 
jested ; I could conceive him saying, " thou the noble 
Freiherr von Plantau ?" I feel that also my friend. 
However here I am again — here with the girl too, — 
and I ask myself, " is it a dream, or is it reality that 1 
see ?"- 

Do you see, dear doctor, I have written already to 
you what a deep impression this girl, with her natural 
and moving simplicity, with her pure and lofty mind, 
and let me add, with the unvarnished beauty of her 
youthful form — of her beauty? — I might call it the 
lovely covering of the soul — had made upon my heart, 
— my heart ? wherefore not my senses ? No ! upon 
the inward unspotted sanctuary of my soul it was 
made ! — In her society I was as if in a new world, in 
a paradise among angels. And yet I resolved to see 
her no more. In four weeks however, I went up the 
Rhine, over Bringen, towards Ingelheim, and came 
nearer Heidelberg, my steps were drawn towards it as 
if by a magic power. 

I said " I feel I have told a falsehood, — who know> 
however ? Time and place may have had their share 



180 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

in it too ; who knows but the enchantment may be dis- 
pelled when I see her in her own house." 

I went nearer to Waldweiler where she dwelt, smi- 
ling at myself, nay even jesting. 

A young man of eighteen met me — I asked for 
Waldweiler — for Herr Traugott Lehmann. 

"That is my brother," said he — " You are Julio 
then, Annette's brother ?" 

" And you are the stranger of Ems ?" rejoined he, 
K are you not ?— a thousand welcomes !" 

It was indeed her brother, every word pointed out 
the relationship. 

Upon the road to Waldweiler, he told me what the 
girl had related to me— he had all the maiden innocence 
of his sister, only the fire of fame burned in his bosom. 
What people ! — I arrived — the girl flew towards me, 
as if she had known what I felt for her. 

Herr Traugott, the noblest, simplest soul, possessor 
of a small property, received me as his son. The 
name Julio, has made me somewhat thoughtful, but 
the good people cannot tell themselves why he was 
called so—" Yes, that is very true," said Annette, " why 
is he so called." His name is Italian too. 

The girl made every preparation that was necessary 
for my remaining, and assured me that I must not think 
of going away for at least four weeks. 

How to tell you, that I have been living among an- 
gels in the Eden of God, in a world of innocence 
which poets only have dreamt of, but which here 
stands living before me a thousand times more lovely—- 
how to paint to you the staff-trumpeter, who has 
formed this paradise, his niece Selena, her parents, the 
spirit of peace, of the most hallowed calm, of the most 
simple piety, I know not, truly I know not ! 

But even in the very first hour I was convinced — aye 
firmly convinced that if I had the feelings of a human 
being, I must either instantly go away, or remain for 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 181 

ever ; — for Annette's heart became every minute more 
and more closely united to mine. I might say I was 
beloved as never man was before. 

Read this once more, my worthy friend ! Should I 
have remained ? 

I remained ! I have been four weeks here — the girl's 
heart dwells in my bosom, her happiness is in my 
heart. 

My Uncle ? — I think with sorrow upon him. But I 
have sworn to Heaven ; I cannot do otherwise. I have 
taken the name of Rauch. 

Talk to my Uncle, but tell him, I cannot do other- 
wise, — Tell him, I swore it on the very day when I 
stood over him and saved his life at the risk of my 
own. No ! do not tell him that. I am a man and a 
man I shall remain. 



ANSWER TO THE ABOVE. 

I HAVE talked with your Uncle my dear George, 
The conversation turned upon matrimonial misal- 
liances—-" Upon marriage," said he, with animation, 
44 God — nature—the heart, — love — all that is holy in 
life should sit in judgment, not the Herald College or 
the Herald King at arms." 

" But if your nephew, Colonel — your dear George ?" 
" Dear Doctor do not take amiss what is so strange- 
ly asked ; George seldom consults any one in such 
matters, except God and his own conscience, and in 
this matter, he should not know that he has an Uncle 
in the world." 

" If he takes you at your word, Colonel." 
M Bah ! I am none of your double-tongued ones — 
Bah !" 

16 



182 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

I f • 

" He takes you at your word then Colonel," said I 7 
with seriousness. 

He looked at me seriously also, and said : " How ?" 

" He takes you at your word," reiterated I — " He 
loves a worthy, innocent, affectionate girl — the daugh- 
ter of a respectable farmer." He knit his brow. 
" Then," said he, " my word has been given and can- 
not be retracted, but my property belongs to a man 
who with wife and child is my equal." " Are you 
alone the Judge in this matter, or God and Nature 
also?" 

" Aye, aye, write him this. A wife such as you 
mention, a worthy, innocent, affectionate woman must 
be purchased with considerable sacrifices. Write that 
to him." 

" Dare he not waver if I write him that, for he is 
still your affectionate nephew George ?" 

" Think you he might waver Doctor ?" 

"If he could waver, it would be love towards his 
Uncle that would make him do so." 

" Have you letters — but I must not see them at pre- 
sent, I might do him injustice. In a better hour you 
shall show them to me." 

The worthy, noble minded man ! Is he not so ? 

I add not a word, for your Uncle is in the right. It 
rests with God and your own conscience, young man J 



LETTER FROM LAURA LUSINI TO MATILDA. 

f I have seen all the three Von Plantaus here. Is it 
chance — or has heaven appointed me as its goddess pi 
revenge upon this family ? * Me who bore nothing in 
my heart save love — No ! I am not so terrible as thou 
thinkest me.™ But was there ever a woman so betray- 
ed as I. Answerest thou with thy cold reason. — Oh 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 



189* 



all ye holy protectors of love — of fidelity — of happi- 
ness ! — Thinkest thou I can forget the moment when 
he walked with the proud Roman maid under the 
orange shades of Tivoli — when I, infatuated by love's 
wild passion, threw myself at his feet — I, the proud 
Lusini— the idolized maid— and confessed my warm 
affection ere he had acknowledged his ? Oh ! when 
he swore — yea, what was there sacred in nature that 
he did not call upon as the witnesses of his eternal 
fidelity ? When he knelt before me, and from his fla- 
ming eye the tears of passion — but wherefore draw 
this picture which so painfully tears my inmost soul, 
since it was but a picture. When I, laden with the 
rich jewels of my mother, quitted the house of my 
worthy aunt — my fair native land, Rome ; and in the 
disguise of a boy, because he wished it, threw my arms 
around his neck, and exclaimed: "Now! have aban- 
doned all that was mine, and have now only thee 
Plantau — thou art now my world — my protecting an- 
gel — my father-land — oh forget it not, Plantau !" 

I fled with him into his rude native country. " I 
can love you so, Plantau," said I, smiling, "Oh 
mayest thou never discover how I can hate, if thou 
ever leavest me." — And yet — 

I had not the slightest suspicion, when he explained 
to me weeping, that the severity of his father made it 
then impossible for him to give me his hand. I laugh- 
ed him out of it — for I had his heart. 

A year had scarcely passed— alas ! in my heart 
there still trembled the remembrance of love's first 
kiss — ere gloomy clouds hung upon his brow. He 
took a journey with me to Verona, as he said — the de- 
ceiver ! to show me my native land from a distance. 
One morning I awoke, and he was gone ! A letter 
in his hand, acquainted me that his father had disco- 
vered our love-— that I was no longer secure in Germa- 



184 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

ny, that the will of his father and of his Prince,— the 
wretch ! forced him to break our connexion- 
Heavens ! Oh heavens ! I called upon all the pure 
spirits of heaven, all the dark powers of hell to avenge 
me ! Like a maniac, — like a fury I pursued him, de- 
termined on every thing that the frightful spirit of re- 
venge could suggest. Sickness detained me on the 
way, — I arrived and found him married. Oh that 
moment — alas ! alas ! 

In disguise I sdw his wife, a spiritless being ; but the 
heiress of an ancient name and of an immense fortune* 
For this was sacrificed a loving heart — fidelity — a Lu- 
sini. 

I saw him. — Oh ye spirits of revenge ! he expended 
upon the proud cold woman all the love that was due 
to me* 

She gave him a son and I had my revenge. " No !" 
cried I, "this union which consummated a hellish 
crime shall not bear thee fruit." I resolved to take 
the boy. I sought out a solitary place wherein I 
might more surely conceal myself with my prize. I 
found it here, in the mountains near Heidelberg — a 
half fallen castle placed among rocks and cliffs, in the 
bosom of a. wood, trod by no human foot, for fear of 
spirits which were said to haunt the ruin. 

I ordered my faithful Louis to purchase in his own 
name, the castle and the wood. — The proprietor of the 
castle did not live far distant. Louis bought furniture 
in Heidelberg for two apartments. — In the course of 
a few nights he opened a road through the woods into 
the castle, in such a manner that no one could suppose 
a person resided there — The hidden solitude, — even the 
story of the spirit accorded well with my melancholy 
mood. In a dark night I took possession of it. 

When all was fully arranged I flew upon wings to 
the city where he lived. The robbery of the boy was 
easy, and I carried him into my solitary habitation* 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 185 

Louis brought every night from Heidelberg what I 
and my faithful maid-servant required. Oh Matilda, 
the hatred with which I at first looked upon the inno- 
cent child was soon changed into love — into pure ma- 
ternal love. 

We were more secure than ever.— I had been seen 
sometimes sitting at midnight under a stone cross 
which pointed out the place where a murder had been 
committed. This place had been the favourite resort 
of melancholy maids. — Every one however now fled 
the spot. It was there that a desire for my own lovely 
native land was again awakened in my bosom. Alas ! 
Yet once more— yet once more, I wished to be in Ti- 
voli — where he the deceiver— the villain — 

My people were long weary of the solitude — they 
beseeched me to go to Italy. 

" And where can I leave the child ?" 

Louis spoke in praises of a man, whose house I 
could see before me. "In his hands," said he, "will 
the boy be better brought up than in yours, Signora — 
tears and melancholy are not well fitted for a boy !" 
That decided me. 

Louis slipt cautiously around the house ; and one 
night eame to me in great haste. I took the boy in 
my arms. The man he spoke of came to the edge of 
the forest — I stept forward — gave him the child — and 
that very night we left the castle. 

My road led me through the capital where the man 
lived who had annihilated my life. — And heavens ! 
his wife had just died of her second child. He him- 
self had been thrown in the chase, and lay at the 
point of death. I learnt this intelligence at the Inn, 
All was forgotten, Matilda. I flew as I was, to his 
house — caused myself to be announced, and with 
tottering steps passed the threshold of his chamber, 

"Oh Laura! Laura!" cried he, stretching out 

16* 



186 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

both hands to me ; " let me but hear again a tone out 
of the period of my happiness." 

"Julio!" cried I, kneeling by his bedside, and 
pressing my lips to his icy hand. 

The whole gloomy past disappeared like an evil 
dream. " Oh dost thou still know me Laura?" said 
he. " Dost thou still know me Julio ?" said I. 

" Alas ! Laura, all that for which I gave up you, 
the happiness of my life is gone. — I leave every thing — 
every thing to my brother, — he— it was he alas ! who 
broke the bonds of our love ! he ! And now my 
daughter ! — 

" What dost thou fear Julio !" said I. 

He stared at me, sighed, and was silent. — Then he 
exclaimed, "I had a son!" 

" He lives !" cried I with energy. — " Thou shalt see 
him." — I explained all to him. 

He drew his hands from mine, clasped them toge- 
ther, and said slowly. "It is all well Laura ! leave 
him where he is ! oh leave him where he is ! For my 
brother — thou knowest not." — 

He made me give him paper ; he wrote, that I, with 
his consent, had given his son for education to Herr 
Traugott Lehman, in Waldweiler, and that Colonel 
Von Stein, his brother-in-law, would recognize his 
son by an infallible token, he subscribed, sealed, and 
gave me the paper. His brother became, much to his 
sorrow, the guardian of his daughter; but he had 
fixed that she should be brought up in the house of the 
Colonel. 

Oh Matilda, he died in my arms. 

I returned to Italy with an enduring sorrow in my 
heart ; alas ! I felt I had lost all — my aunt was dead 
also. 

My faithful Louis had remained in Germany, and 
had purchased a small house in Waldweiler. I re- 
ceived from him the best news of my Julio But yet 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 187 

I was terrified when Louis at length wrote to me, that 
Julio was in love with the pheasant-inspector's daugh- 
ter. He painted to me the girl as a perfect angel. 

I went instantly to Germany, visited the grave of the 
man whom I never could forget, saw his daughter who 
lived with the Colonel — a trait of soft melancholy hung 
over her lovely blue eye, and recognized among the 
Colonel's servants, the old attendant of my beloved, 
who knew all his master's secrets, and our connexion 
also. 

I addressed him, and asked him to speak with me. 

"Alas, Signora!" said he, "the happy times are 
past, my master is dead, — his son has disappeared, — his 
daughter — " 

"What is the matter with her, William ?" 

He attempted to restrain his tongue, but at length 
he said with a deep sigh, " the poor girl is in love, and 
loves with ardour a worthy young man, who is destitute 
of nothing but money." 

" Thy mistress is rich enough already." 

" So much the worse," replied he, " so much the 
worse ; for her guardian, the brother of my sainted mas- 
ter, threatens that she shall give her hand to his son, 
and he — " 

" Well, and he ?" 

" Alas ! we servants know often more than what is 
right. In short, the young man is, I believe, a villain !" 

He then acquainted me with traits of his character, 
which left no doubt of the truth of his assertion. 

" But the Colonel?" rejoined I. 

"Oh worthy man, Signora! He had destined his 
nephew for this lady, he also is a Von Plantau, of the 
name of George." 

" Well, and he ?" 

" The Colonel trusts much to him, a wonderful fellow 
who flies up and down the world, accompanied by two 
large English dogs, a gun slung across his shoulder, 



188 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

and dressed in a green jacket, as if he were the wild 
huntsman of the forest. The other Plantau is after 
the lady's fortune. You see how my master's house is 
falling,- — heaven punishes sooner or later !" 
, I obtained from the old man the most minute parti- 
culars, and set off. I went through a small town, 
where the future betrothed of the young lady was re- 
siding. I saw the young man, a tall noble figure, a 
fine face, a face indeed that had^t considerable resem- 
blance to that of my beloved ; but in his eye there lay 
.a trait of falsehood, which beamed almost as if in 
triumph. His character was talked of in the place with 
frightful shakings of the head. 

I was now acquainted with the whole family, and 
their secrets, and thus I arrived at Heidelberg. 

Louis came, talked of Julio with great delight, — of 
his love for the maid, almost as passionately as if he 
himself had been the lover. " The girl is called Se- 
lena i" Louis had become acquainted with the young 
people, and through them with the old people also. 
He could not find words to extol their individual worth. 

" And the parents of the maid, do they approve of 
the young pair's affection ?" said I. 

Louis knit his brow. "In the first place," said he, 
" between the young people there has been no open 
declaration. They love each other, Signora, even more 
warmly I might say, than you once did Von Plantau ; 
but they know it not. It is really the case, although 
you may laugh at it. But you must see the pair, and 
hear them speak. In the second place, there has ap- 
peared a young gentleman of the name of Hunold, 
handsomely dressed, and possessing elegant manners, 
such as are only to be acquired in good society — a man 
who is constantly talking of virtue, which seems to me 
to be a little suspicious. The staff-trumpeter too can- 
not bear him, and this man, Signora, whom even a 
child can deceive, sees deep into the soul. Selena's 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 189 

mother suffers him somewhat better, because he has a 
fine property — has a carriage and horses every time he 
comes, brings along with him always some fashionable 
dress for Selena, or herself, and talks of large sums of 
money*" 

" Poor Julio." 

" Aye, the poor young man has nothing, not even a 
name, and if Traugott dies, or — there the mother is in 
the right too not to give her consent. The staff-trum- 
peter remains mournfully silent. Julio observes no- 
thing. Selena but little. Love will break forth, and 
then — but there is still another young man here, who 
loves Annette, a hunter, a strange fellow, accompanied 
by two English dogs." 

" Is he too a Seducer ?" 

" By no means, for wooden leg is security for his 
honour." 

" And what is his name, if he is no deceiver ?" 

" Rauch !" 

Matilda — I went the same evening into the Castle, 
which Louis had prepared for me. On the following 
morning I stood behind an aged oak-tree with my tele- 
scope, Louis near me, and turned it upon Traugott's 
house door. 

" That is Julio, Signora," said Louis. 

It was he, oh it was he, the true picture, the very 
image of my Julio, whose name he bears. Then An- 
nette stepped forward. Oh Louis was right — the angel 
of innocence. Julio was a tall strong young man, about 
twenty years of age. He ! alas ! I must not revert to 
him again — away with those fairy pictures that are now 
gone for ever. Now came Herr Rauch, exactly as 
William had described him — he was the Colonel's ne- 
phew — a Von Plantau, and a seducer. He with the 
noble features of his uncle the Colonel ? " Oh Louis ? " 
exclaimed I — " he a seducer ?" 




190 THE HAUNTED CASTLE* 

" He is not, Signora, but the other, — there he 
comes Signora." 

I turned the glass upon him and was confounded. 
Matilda, it was the betrothed of Julio's daughter. 

I have seen the three Von Plantaus, two of them 
are certainly deceivers, and the third the betrayed. 
No! No! Julio! 

My plan is not yet matured. But I know I must 
either enter among these families as a guardian angel 
or as an avenger. What is the part that Fate has des- 
tined for me ? Thou shalt know now, Farewell ! 

It was a most critical time that Laura Lusini inter- 
posed. Plantau had in the mother of Selena such 
a powerful supporter to his love, that he verily be- 
lieved he held the fair booty in his hand. He had to 
be sure never spoken plainly of a marriage with Selena, 
but he joked about it continually. The staff-trumpe- 
ter took Julio's part with zeal. The mother then 
cried : " Shall Selena become the wife of a man who 
is a beggar when Traugott dies ? Tell me that bro- 
ther ?" 

What could he say ? 

He went to Traugott and spoke about Julio's future 
prospects. Traugott knit his brow. " I have brought 
him up," said he, " but what I have belongs to my 
sister, provided I do not marry, which as yet I have 
not forsworn." 

The trumpeter grew pale, and Traugott repeated 
still more decidedly, that Julio must not reckon upon 
him. " For could I be justified before God if I did 
otherwise? Speak!" The trumpeter threw a sor- 
rowful look to Heaven, for Traugott was right. 

Returning home he met Julio. "Poor fouth!" 
was all he during a sorrowful embrace could utter. 

"I know what goes on," said the young man, 
"This Hunold— and Selena!" 

"Thou hast lost her!" said the trumpeter. He 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 192 

explained. Then flowed the first tears in this para* 
dise. 

Julio flew to Selena, then to Annette, every eye was 
wet. Julio and Annette went to Traugott, and here 
the last destroying flash of lightning fell from heaven. 
Julio discovered that he was not Traugott' s brother, 
that the Castle-spirit or the devil knows who — Alas 
Julio! 

Laura learnt every thing from Louis. 

The whole neighbourhood was full of frightful tales 
of the Castle-spirit — the herd boys had seen lights — 
had heard music, — had observed a white figure at the 
cross. 

The mother pressed at last for an explanation from 
Hunold. He wrote to Selena and offered her his hand. 
Selena read it with sobs, gave the letter to Annette, 
and Annette gave it to Julio. The young man in 
despair ran late in the evening to the cross. He heard 
a beautiful voice singing a tender song, he saw a white 
figure, and the figure beckoned him, — he approached 
slowly. 

" Thou lovest Selena, young man?" 

" More than my life." 

" Take courage ! what is that paper ?" 

" Hunold' s request for Selena's hand." 

" Give me it and take that. Go ! Go !" 

At that moment a lovely chord sounded as if from 
heaven, and when Julio turned round again, the figure 
had disappeared. He ran home, darted into the room, 
crying, " I have seen her !" He approached the win- 
dow, and read audibly, " Thou art not called Hunold ! 
Deceiver! Thou art Freiherr Von Plantau from 
Grossbriick. Wouldst thou seduce the innocent? 
Her guardian angel watches, — Go,- — Fly and repent !" 

" God be praised!" cried Julio, holding the paper 
high in the air. 

" Who gave you that?" 



192 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

Julio explained. George looked at every one with 
astonishment but was silent. On the following morn- 
ing he went with the paper to Goldmann's. Traugott 
shaking his head went along with him. He gave the 
paper in presence of the family to the Freiherr. He 
read it and grew deadly pale. " Who wrote this ?" 
cried he, haughtily. 

"It booteth not, Sir, you have only to explain 
whether you are the Freiherr Von Plantau or not?" 

" Who calls me to account ?" 

" Every one who has an innocent daughter or sister, 
Herr Baron." He gave the mother the letter, she 
read it, and looked for the Freiherr' s explanation, but 
he seized his hat with a proud contemptuous smile, 
bowed and departed. George stamped with rage that 
he was obliged to let him go thus. He inquired now 
after the Castle-spirit, and the incredible occurrences 
of thirty years were related to him. George said no- 
thing but went away. The trumpeter sought his Julio, 
whose prospects in the eye of the mother, were much 
bettered by the support of the Castle-spirit. 

George went directly past the Cross into the wood, 
all was silent around him. He slackened his pace as 
he approached the ruins, terror began to steal over 
him. He entered the Castle, went into a vaulted pas- 
sage at the farther end of which stood immoveable, a 
tall figure veiled in white. He stopt a moment and 
then proceeded, the figure approached to meet him, a 
beautiful — a noble woman. " Madam," said he, most 
respectfully, " you have this day saved the hopes of 
an innocent pair." 

"Have I? Dost thou know it of a certainty r 
Canst thou comprehend the course of fate ? The vir- 
tue of a man is so deceitful ; his virtues are all at best, 
but good designs formed in a too inspired, or a too 
placid moment!" 

4i Madam, though I tremble here, yet I believe in 




THE HAUNTED CASTLE, 193 

no other but invisible spirits — you may perhaps have a 
noble object in playing the spectre here, and if you 
have ought to do with me, then tell me who I am." 

The lady proudly answered, " This paper send to 
Colonel Stein, it will save thy uncle's daughter, Ce- 
cilia!" 

At this, George turning deadly pale started back, 
Tor he knew well that he had not passed by his own 
name for five years. He threw his eyes upon the 
ground, and his trembling hand took the sealed paper. 
The figure turned round and disappeared in an adjoin- 
ing hall. When in^erfourt-yard he fain would have 
returned, but one shudder after another compelled him 
to depart. George that very day declared his love to 
Annette, and pled warmly with Traugott for her hand. 
He mentioned his real name, and said, " I can offer 
your sister nothing except love, a pure life, and a pro- 
perty which is not more valuable than your own." — 
Traugott consented. They all went over to Gold- 
mann's except Julio, to declare their happiness. An- 
nette fell upon the neck of Selena's mother, and beg- 
ged for poor Julio — the mother sighed — George how- 
ever explained that the spirit was a noble lady, and that 
Julio's destiny would certainly be happily unravelled. 
The mother then consented. The trumpeter took his 
trumpet, opened the window 7 , and blew a call — Julio 
heard it, ran in, Selena lay in his arms, and the first 
kiss of the bride trembled upon his dumb-struck lips. 

The marriage day was fixed to be in four weeks. 
George wrote to the doctor, and received the day be- 
fore the marriage this short epistle from his uncle : 

" One's word once given cannot be retracted! It 
rests with God and your own conscience George! 
The doctor has written to you my determination. I 
>till abide by it ! Cecilia is not to be saved, although 
the letter of the bridegroom has given its dumb evi- 
dence. He has explained all his conduct with Selena 
17 



194 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

as a mere joke, and his father asserts that he knew it to 
be such. The poor girl loves, but she loves a noble- 
man, an excellent young man ! — Poor child ! — But 
the father is her guardian, and she the richest of 
heiresses." 

George rushed with the letter into the wood, and 
stormed at the doors till he found the Castle spirit. 

" Spirit or human being !" said he, " read ! and if 
you can save her, do it !" 

" God be praised !" cried she, clasping her hands 
with human warmth. " God be praised ! I can save 
her. The day after the marfiagfc I shall set off with 
the young pairs. Have two carriages ready from 
Heidelberg." 

The marriage day arrived, and on the morning after, 
the Castle spirit appeared gravely, but softly smiling, 
with her attendant before Traugott's door. 

"lam an unfortunate lady," said she, "but you 
shall love me. — Make haste !" They travelled day 
and night, and in two days they arrived before the 
Colonel's door. The house was brilliantly illuminated, 
Cecilia's betrothed was there, his father, and the pale 
trembling girl. 

" What is this ?" demanded the Colonel, and recog- 
nized his nephew George. 

M We remain by our determination !" said Von 
Stein. 

' ' Be it so ! dearest Colonel ! but the blessing of 
the worthiest of men, my wife must not be deprived 
of." 

" Then, young man, there it is ! my best blessing, 
and from the heart!" He looked at her and kissed 
her. " Who are the others George ?" 

" Have you never heard of the name Lusini, Colo- 
nel r" said Laura proudly approaching ; " I think you 
were her friend." 

%i Laura Lusini?" continued the Colonel much at- 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 195 

fected, " If you are she, then have I to give you the 
last blessing of the most wretched of men. Alas ! we 
all broke thy heart. Dearest Laura, — he is dead!" 

" Upon my lips he breathed his last sigh, and in this 
paper I bring you his will," said Laura. 

" I am Cecilia's guardian. If there is any thing to 
be said about that" said the Freiherr in a commanding 
voice. " With respect to Cecilia's hand," cried Lau- 
ra, " One here present has a right to be consulted, 
Freiherr ! The son of your brother Baron Gustavus 
Von Plantau." Thus saying, she led forward the 
young man. 

" Some new fairy tale, doubtless," said the Frei- 
herr. 

" He is so !" cried the Colonel warmly, " place only 
his sister next him, put him in her dress, and you 
would say at once it is Cecilia !" 

" I believe it not," cried the Baron. " I require 
evidence." 

" Here is an acknowledgment of his father !" Lau- 
ra gave the letter of Julio to the Colonel. The Colo- 
nel read it out. 

" Where then is the infallible token whereby he is 
to be known ?" 

" It is a mark in the form of a cherry, bearing a 
wonderful resemblance to a cherry, upon his left 
breast," said the Colonel, tearing open the young man's 
shirt, — " and here it is," pressing his lips upon the 
mark. 

The Baron still found difficulties, but Laura said, 
with dignity, " Baron, I or my servants have not for 
one instant lost sight of your nephew, till I placed him 
in the arms of Herr Lehman. — A judge even will re- 
quire nothing more than Cecilia's face, and his father's 
portrait. Shall we bring the matter to trial ?" 

"No no! but then poor Cecilia! Your brother 
from the richest of heiresses makes you a beggar. — 



196 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

And if Cecilia is opposed to the connexion with my 
son, then I consider it the best way to — " 

" Amen !" cried the Colonel, laughing ; " and then 
may the beggar marry a beggar — What do you think 
my little darling ?" — She sank at his feet. 

The Freiherr and his son went away, — " a happy 
journey to you knaves!" cried the Colonel. Now 
every thing was explained, and to the inexpressible 
joy of Cecilia, her lover was sent for. The good old 
man started however, when he heard that Selena was 
the young Baron's wife, but forgot it again in the joy 
that succeeded. — He embraced Selena, then Annette, 
divided his property between Cecilia and George, 
pressed each to his bosom, and declared, " that marri- 
age belongs to God and one's own heart !" 

After a few days, they all travelled back in company 
with the Colonel to Waldweiler. The staff-trumpeter's 
habits of subordination made him feel embarrassed be- 
fore the Colonel, but they soon became acquainted— 
the two worthy souls ! 

After a lapse of fourteen days the Colonel exclaim- 
ed, " by heavens this is paradise or it is no where V 



WOLDEMAR, 

A STORY 

FROM THE ITALIAN CAMPAIGN OF 1805. 

BY if 

THEODORE CHARLES KORNER. 



Their swords are red from the fight. — 
My brother ! why hast thou slain my Salgar ? 
Oh Salgar ! why hast thou slain my brother ? 



Ossian. 



WOLDEMAR TO HIS FRIEND GUSTAVUS. 

M a, 17$ My, 1805. 

We are still my dear Gustavus lying quietly in front 
of the enemy. I cannot conceive the reason of this 
eternal fear. The whole army thirst for battle, and 
join me in deprecating this burdensome repose ; it un- 
bends the mind, and renders it unfit for action. To 
all appearances, however, we shall still remain some 
time in this situation; and our ardent hopes, soon to 
engage the French, seem likely to continue long un- 
realized. To-morrow morning, I advance with my 
division two hour's march towards Villarosa. Every 
one envies me for this change, for Villarosa must be a 

delightful residence. It belongs to Count P , who 

possesses a considerable estate in the Tyrol, where you 
must surely have heard of him. He lives here in the 
enjovmentof nature and of his family, who, as well a* 

17* 



198 WOLDEMAR, 

himself are commended by every one. It is not to be 
denied, that one first learns, in these unceremonious 
visits of war, to value aright the happiness of meeting 
with educated men ; yet such occurrences are so tran- 
sient, I would rather be called to the field of battle to- 
morrow, than live any longer in this insupportable 
quiet. 

That I must thus set foot upon the land which has 
ever been the limit of my waking dreams, that I must 
help with rude and bloody hands to chase away all 
peaceful joys from this hallowed soil, pains me most 
deeply. I had hoped to have crossed its frontiers in 
other circumstances. But I am now a soldier — a sol- 
dier from choice — from love and thirst of battle ; and 
such feelings suit not this sky, nor accord with this 
land, where all, even in spite of the agitations of the 
times, is teeming with luxurious abundance. — Oh ! that 
thou couldst behold fair, glorious Italy, how it shines 
and blossoms. Who would wish to enter it at the 
head of a conquering army ? 



ViLLAUOSA, 21st July, 1805. 
I WRITE you from Villarosa, from this paradise of 
nature. My dear friend, envy me, envy me for every 
hour I am allowed to pass here. What a circle of ami- 
able beings. Thou wouldst see Magdalena, her tall 
and noble form, her large black eyes, and luxuriant 
golden locks ; thou wouldst hear the harmony of her 
voice, those tones of angelic life ; and then thou 
mightest forget, like myself, war and war's alarms. 
A calm melancholy, the tender trace of some deep sor- 
row, which like a mellowed sunbeam, floats around the 
mild features of the lovely girl, combined with the ex- 
pression of the greatest tenderness beaming from her 
eyes, gives to her something inexpressibly — infinitely 



WOLDEMAR. 199 

charming. But what is heavenly cannot be described ; 
I cannot name to you all the feelings which in sweet 
intoxication seize on my already overflowing heart. 
But I perceive I have yet written nothing for your in- 
formation ; you must know then, that Magdalena is the 

daughter of Count P , to whom Villarosa belongs ; 

here I met with such a reception, — the oldest friend 
could not have desired a better, so much cordiality 
and kindness ; I can scarcely imagine my own good 
fortune. I now live under the same roof with her ; I 
am almost always in her society. I accompany her 
on the guitar, when she sings her national canzonetts, 
those sweet songs of love and sadness. She conducts 
me around the splendid environs of the villa, and par- 
ticipates most warmly in the delights I experience in 
this earthly paradise. Oh ! She is an angel, a being 
full of elevated tenderness. How I feel every impulse 
of my soul changed, I feel myself better, because her 
presence ennobles me. I feel myself blest, for I can 
still behold her. Happy man that I am. 



Villarosa, 23d July. 
God be praised ! nothing hostile is yet heard. I 
am hopeful the armies may still for some weeks remain 
quietly opposed to each other, and I may not be 
obliged to leave this heaven. Never could I have be- 
lieved that love could have so completely changed me ! 
Formerly an ardent everlasting desire impelled me 
forth into the misty distance. All my joys lay in fu- 
turity, and life passed before me shapeless and obscure. 
But now my whole energies are employed. In fher 
holy presence the wild storm of the soul is softened 
down to sweetest sadness, — she imparts to me all her 
joys ; and stirred by the breath of love, the strings of 
a more exalted life sound deeply within me. With 



200 WOLDEMAR. 

how much kindness they treat me. No one lets me 
feel how unpleasant, how burdensome I must necessa- 
rily be in my present situation. What noble beings 
they are ! The father, with a look calm amid the agi- 
tations of the period, with a figure noble, firm, and 
commanding the profoundest respect, The mother 
who lives only in the circle of her family, and who 
surrounds all with her heart-felt tenderest affection. 
Ah ! and Magdalena, Magdalena ! he has never felt 
what is holy and heavenly in life, who has not seen in 
her angelic eye, the glow of a nobler perfection, — who 
has not bent his knee in adoration before this emblem 
of purity. 



Villarosa, 25th July. 
She has a brother, whom she loves with no ordinary 
affection : he has lately quitted his home on account 
of a duel; and they know not the situation of his 
present retreat. This is the occasion of her melan- 
choly, for she hangs on this brother with a love, with 
a tenderness which belongs altogether to her own kind 
heart. How she related it to me, with all the expres- 
sion of inward and heart-felt sorrow, while tears flowed 
from her eyes. I cannot tell you how much this story 
has affected me. There is no circumstance in the 
whole of human life, where tenderness and greatness 
of soul can express themselves plainer than in afflic- 
tion : and it is impossible to meet with any thing more 
moving, and more inspiring than tears in the lovely eyes 
of such a girl. I told her so, and she felt that I wished 
not merely to flatter her. Softly she pressed my 
hand, which, in the ecstacy of the moment, had seized 
her's, rose up quickly, and said, in hurrying away, 
" I believe, Woldemar, you are an honest man !" Oh, 
thou canst not conceive the heavenly tones of these 



WOLDEMAR, 201 

words ! Long I stood looking steadfastly after her, 
then I threw myself down and kissed the grass which 
her light feet had touched. Callest thou me a child, 
Gustavus ? Yes, I am indeed a child, but I am a hap- 
py one. In the evening I gaze from the window as 
long as I can perceive the light of her apartment, which 
being in the right, and mine in the left wing of the vil- 
la, I can easily see. Thus I often stand for hours to- 
gether, and gaze at the flickering light of her taper, 
until it is extinguished — then I seize my guitar, and my 
notes full of passion resound in the clear moonlight, 
which under an Italian sky, rests like the spirit of the 
eternal, in godlike stillness upon the earth. Canst 
thou indeed conceive the sanctity which then floats in 
those full tones around me ? Hast thou an idea in thy 
breast for such delights ? Gustavus! Gustavus! they 
never once occurred to my imagination ! , 



Villarosa, 29th July. 
Oh ! that I cannot fly into thy arms, that I dare not 
weep from infinite delight upon thy brotherly bosom. 
Oh ! that I should bear alone this excess of burning 
joy ! Alas ! my poor heart cannot contain this migh- 
ty feeling — it must break. Gustavus, she is mine ! 
From her trembling lips the confession of her love has 
faultered, — she has lain upon my bosom, and I have 
dared to impress burning kisses upon her lips. Silent- 
ly we sat on the terrace, lost in the sweetest dreams. 
The sun was then sinking behind the mountains, and 
his parting rays gilded the shining arms of a band of 
our troops which was passing in the distance. Some- 
thing spoke within me like the voice of a spirit, and 
said, " thou returnest home no more," and deep me- 
lancholy took possession of my soul. Magdalena soon 
remarked my emotion, and asked me, participating in 



202 WOLDEMAR. 

it, what grieved me ? I mentioned my foreboding, and 
softly inquired if she would drop a tear upon my 
grave ! I stepped forward and seized her hand, she 
trembled, and with tears of sorrow in her eye, she 
gazed upon me, I could no longer contain myself — I 
threw myself at her feet : — " Magdalena," cried I, " I 
can be silent no longer— I love thee !" Deeply af- 
fected, she sank into my arms, and our lips sealed the 
holy bond. When, at last, we recovered from the glo- 
rious tumult of our souls, oh ! how I felt ! Already 
had the twilight encompassed the earth, and lulled the 
world into a sweet slumber ; but in my bosom there 
glowed an eternal day, the morning of my happiness 
had dawned. Ah, how different too was now my 
Magdalena; she stood like a translated soul before 
me, — the spirit of a more exalted existence floated 
around her, — the expression of prosperous love shone 
about her countenance like the areola of a saint. 
Formerly, she appeared to me as the emblem of virgin 
perfection, now she stands before me like the seraph of 
a better world, — her girlish timidity is changed by the 
consciousness of everlasting love, to a holy confidence 
in the energies of her own mind. 

As yet I have not spoken to her parents ; but I hope 
they will not impede our happiness — they hang upon 
Magdelena with such tenderness, that they will not 
trouble the source of their own felicity. Gustavus, if 
thou hast as yet never experienced that blessed mo- 
ment in which love hurries on two hearts to a burning 
ecstacy, and steeps them in the greatest of earthly 
bliss ; if these heavenly words, " I love thee," have 
never sounded in thy ear, from well loved lips, then 
indeed, thou canst not conceive the infinite power of 
that feeling, — the heaven-born ecstacy of requited af- 
fection ! 



WOLDEMAR. 203 

VlLLAROSA, 1st AugUSt. 

Partake of my happiness, my dear Gustavus ! 
She is mine, — mine by the voice of her own heart, — 
mine by the promise of her parents, — noble, honoura- 
ble beings ! They object not to me ; they receive 
me, a stranger, into the happy circle of their affection. 
Does not every thing unite to fulfil my fondest wishes* 
even before I venture to express them? Does not 
every thing aid in the most friendly manner, even in this 
stormy period, to lay the foundation of everlasting 
peace in my bosom ? 

I have made known to them all my circumstances ; 
how I joined this campaign, merely from the restless 
love of a military life ; that I would, after its close, 
take leave of the army, — sell my property in Bohemia, 
and return to my dear-loved Italy, to live only for 
Magdalena, and the pleasing duties of domestic love; 
— I told them every thing, and they felt that I would 
not at least make Magdalena unhappy. But as I 
could not count on a much longer residence, expect- 
ing every moment orders for the commencement of 
hostilities, they gave us at last their blessing, and the 
greatest felicity burned in the bosoms of four happy 
beings. 

Gustavus, when the father presented to me Magda- 
lena, when he said, " Take her, the joy of my life, 
and make her happy ;" — when she sank in my arms, 
and the kiss imprinted in the hallowed presence of her 
parents, to seal the happy bond, glowed on our lips, 
then I experienced the greatest — the most boundless 
joy, — all the angels of heaven descended into my soul, 
and created an enchanted Eden within me ! — In glow- 
ing ecstacy I revelled in the fulfilment of my ideal 
happiness, which now bloomed in fair reality within 
^ the circle of my own existence. Gustavus, I am noi 
fitted for this blessedness ! 



204 WOLDEMAR. 

Villarosa, 3d August 
My friend, what days of paradise do I pass at pre- 
sent in the circle of my affection ! Father and mother 
try every means to testify their affection and love to 
their new son ; and Magdalena lives but for me. We 
are the whole day together, and I behold my sweet 
girl unfolding more and more the charms of her good 
and noble soul. Of her music I have already written 
■ — it affords her great delight, and the more so when 
she thinks how much more perfect our little concerts 
will be on the return of her brother. " Camillo," she 
says, "will sing a good powerful tenor, and we shall 
then be able to have many a terzetto." I am quite 
curious about my brother-in-law. They are all so 
much attached to him, that each is affected when his 
absence is thought of; and that is scarcely ever to be 
avoided, because he is associated in their minds with 
every thing around, and in every situation he is missed. 
They are all too desirous to speak of Camillo, he must 
be truly amiable. I think of him always as a brave 
young man, full of spirit, resolution and firmness, 
strong in body and in mind — a proud young Her- 
cules. 

Besides singing and playing, Magdalena also draws 
elegantly ; she takes great pleasure in designing 
sketches of historical subjects, and she has thereby al- 
ready attained a very pleasing facility in the mechani- 
cal part of the art. Within these few days she has de- 
lineated the scene where Horatia beholds her brother 
the conqueror, as well as the murderer of her lover. 
Jn the expression of the maiden's face, where the com- 
bat of internal feeling so plainly speaks out, she has 
completely and nobly succeeded. The drawing af- 
fected me much, and the simple forms have produced 
in me a very deep impression. Oh that thou couldst 
have heard her, when she delivered her sentiments so 



WGLDEMAR. 205 

elegantly on the sketch, while she imagined herself 
with such felicity in the situation of Horatia. She 
complained not against the murderer of her husband, — 
she complained against relentless fate ; since her bro- 
ther must fight like a Roman. — It was not Horatius 
but Rome that planted the sword in her beloved's bo- 
som. At present, Magdalena is engaged with a por- 
trait of her brother from recollection. The old people 
say it will be extremely like, she bears the resemblance 
of him so distinctly in her mind. I am not to be al- 
Jowed to see it till it is finished. Gustavus, what an 
everlasting train of delightful, heavenly joys, and feasts 
of love are reserved for my future life. How will my 
sweet beloved girl ennoble with her fine talents, our 
friendly circle. I shall spend days, that I would not 
exchange for all the treasures of the world. It is in- 
deed a blessed feeling, when from the storms of the 
ocean, the ship enters with full sail into the safe and 
secure haven, — when one with the presentiment of the 
greatest earthly happiness flies towards the fair ruddy 
morn of love. Gustavus, my day has dawned ! 



VlLLAROSA, 4th AtlgUSL 

What I so long feared, has at last happened. I 
must depart, I must leave my sweet Magdalena. Early 
to-day I received orders to move to-morrow morning 
at day break, two hour's march to the rear : the enemy 
approach, and we apparently wish to wait for them in 
(he most advantageous position upon the heights of 

C . Oh ! the whole war, on which I once hung 

with such ecstacy, is now to me quite insupportable. 
The thought that I must lose my Magdalena makes 
me shudder through my inmost soul, and a gloomy 
presentiment floats through my dreams. If it were 
only to advance — but to retire, knowing that Villarosa 
18 



206 WOLDEMAR. 

and all that is dear to me on earth, is in the enemy's 
power — it will make me mad. I am none of those 
stout souls that can bear every thing. I can venture 
all, but I possess not the patience to attain my object 
through suffering! How hateful will each moment 
be that deprives me of the sight of my dear, my ten- 
der girl, that prevents me pressing her to my agitated 
bosom. Alas ! I am no longer the old Woldemar. I 
scarcely feel within me sufficient courage to bear the 
pangs of parting. Before this feeling, the proud con- 
sciousness of manliness is prostrated. 



RlCCARDINO, 1th August. 

Oh ! Let me pass over, Gustavus, the hour of sepa- 
ration, — let me not speak of Magdalena's tears, — of 
my own sorrow — her last kisses. I followed my or- 
ders, and have been for these three days in Riccardino. 
It has proved some consolation to me, that I can see 
from the window of my new quarters, Villarosa, where 
my beloved dwells. Over this window I lie incessant- 
ly, and look towards it, — the continued longing might 
almost burst my heart ! Every thing is so lonely — so 
empty around me ; even the loud tumult of war, (for 
with us all is motion, and several regiments are here 
together,) attracts not my observation. At present I 
have only one feeling but yet a burning powerful one. 
which could courageously break through every bond, 
Magdalena, how boundless is my affection. I cannot 
conceive how I could live without thee. 

Two Hoars later. 

Gustavus, something rages frightfully within me— 

my dark forboding approaches its fulfilment! The 

General has ordered us to assemble, and called for 

volunteers for the storm of Villarosa. The enemy 



W0LDEB1AR. 207 

have taken possession of it and appear to wish to for- 
tify themselves on the heights. That I was the first to 
offer myself, thou canst well imagine. I shall deliver 
my Magdalena from the power of the enemy, what a 
godlike feeling for me ! but I shall leave upon those 
peaceful banks many a corpse, and shall help to destroy 
that delightful little world, upon which she rests with 
such heart-felt affection. Can I do so ? — Dare I do it ? 
— O combat of duty ! Yet happen what may, I must 
join the enterprise. I shall be the more ready to give 
assistance. — We shall have sharp work. The enemy is 
by no means insignificant in numbers, and my band is 
small, because the brave are required every where, and 
the general can only spare a few, for he hourly expects 
events of greater consequence. May heaven preserve 
me ! Duty and love call upon me, — bloodily must I 
purchase my happiness. 



Thus far are the letters of Woldemar. In a most 
frightful frame of mind he sallied forth, with his brave 
troops towards Villarosa. Already from afar they be- 
held the enemy's posts, and even before Woldemar, as 
was his plan, could approach, by well known ways, 
through the cypress grove to the neighbourhood of the 
Castle, the enemy's corps, who had already perceived 
him approaching, or had received information of his de- 
sign boldly advanced to meet him. The fight began, 
and soon it came to close combat; for Waldemar's 
troops, as they knew they had to conquer back their 
leader's bride, rushed fearlessly on the foe. Most furi- 
ously fought the French officer, a young man of tall and 
noble form ; frequently he and Woldemar met each 
other in the battle, but always were they again separa- 
ted ; at last the enemy could no longer withstand the 
impetuous charges of the brave soldiers, they retreat- 



^08 WOLDEMAR. 

ed into the Castle, and the officer defended the en- 
trance with raging despair, as if it had contained the 
best portion of his life. At length Woldemar fell upon 
him with all his force, he was obliged to give way, the 
soldiers rushed into the Villa, and Woldemar followed 
his stubborn antagonist from room to room, in each of 
which a new combat commenced, Woldemar cried to 
him to surrender, but in vain ; instead of yielding, he 
fought more furiously. Both were already covered 
with wounds, when it appeared to Woldemar, as if he 
heard the voice of Magdalena in the neighbourhood: 
he gathered up his last force, and his opponent fell up- 
on the ground, pierced with his sword. At that mo- 
ment Magdalena with her father rushed into the apart- 
ment, and crying " my Brother, my unfortunate Bro- 
ther," — sank down upon the slain. The most frightful 
despair seized upon Woldemar ; he stood as if annihi- 
lated, overwhelmed with being a brother's murderer. 
At length Magdalena recovered by help of the atten- 
dants ; her first look fell upon Woldemar, then upon his 
bloody sword, and she sank anew, lifeless upon her bro- 
ther's corpse. She was borne away, along with her 
father, who in death-like fixedness had until now silent- 
ly followed what happened. 

Woldemar was transfixed amid the terrible con- 
sciousness of having annihilated the happiness of the 
most noble of beings. He heard not when the news 
was brought him, that the remainder of the enemy 
were partly slain, and partly taken prisoners ; — he had 
but one overwhelming feeling, and he gave himself up 
to despair. — At length the Count appeared — he had 
collected himself, and still extended his hand to the 
murderer of his son, — Woldemar sank down at his feet 
overpowered with feeling, and covered his hands with 
tears. But the old man drew him to his breast, and 
their manly hearts broke out into most unutterable sor- 
row. Whentyhe Count had again recovered, he re- 



WOLDEMAR. 209 

lated to Woldemar how his son Camillo had taken a 
commission in the French army, and had only a few 
days before joined it. He mentioned also how Mag- 
dalena had told her beloved brother of her Woldemar, 
and how delighted he was in the prospect of becoming 
acquainted with the friend of his sister, and of being 
able to testify his affection to him. How was Wolde- 
mar' s bosom torn ! Furiously he raved, and the Count 
was endeavouring to take from him his sword, with 
which he wished to end his misery, when, at that mo- 
ment both were arrested by the anxious bustle around 
them, and they foreboded some new misfortune. Alas ! 
Magdalen a, whose tender nerves this frightful scene 
had powerfully affected, lay in the agonies of death. 
Woldemar's despair was at its height ; he conjured the 
Count to permit him to see her once more if he did not 
wish to make him curse himself and his fate ; he threw 
himself again at his feet, and deeply affected, the afflic- 
ted father went away, determined not to refuse this 
last favour to his unhappy friend. Magdaiena, whose 
heart still struggled between love and horror, was with 
difficulty persuaded to see again the murderer of her 
brother ; but her pure soul, so near its beatification, sur- 
mounted the earthly sorrow — love, eternal love conquer- 
ed ! Upon this interview, a fragment of a letter to 
Gustavus was found in Woldemar's possession. It was 
this: 

" Gustavus ! I am annihilated : I have destroyed the 
happiness of those angels, — the guilt of blood lies hea- 
vily upon me, and despair rages in my veins. Gusta- 
vus, curse me ! The pictures of the past frightfully 
assail me — they will make me mad ; — I am already 
frantic. Yet once more I have seen her — that celestial 
being, whose heaven I have destroyed — yet once more 
she beheld me with all the expression of her former af- 
fection, and softly said, " Woldemar, I forgive thee." 
I fell down at her feet while she raised herself with her 
18* 



^10 WOLDEMAR. 

last effort to press me to her affectionate bosom, and 
sank dead into my arms. Gustavus ! Gustavus ! 1 am 
hurried after her— my despair urges me on. She has 
forgiven me — the pure celestial being — but I forgive 
myself not — I must sacrifice myself; through blood 
alone, can I roll the guilt from off my heart. — Fare- 
well ! I dare not reckon it with my destiny. I have de- 
stroyed my own joys. Farewell! thou partner soul, 
God is merciful, he will let me die." 

His last wish was granted. That slight skirmish 
was the forerunner of a decisive battle, for the day 
following saw both armies in the tumult of a frightful 
conflict. Woldemar fought like a despairing man ; he 
rushed deep into the enemy's lines, sought death and 
found it ; pierced with innumerable bayonet wounds, 
he fell in the hottest of the fight, and his last word 
was Magdalena ! .All who knew him, wept in him a 
true friend, a brave comrade, and an honourable man* 
He was placed in &ie family cemetery at Villarosa, next 
to his Magdalena. — Peace be with their ashes 1 



THE HARP. 



A TALE 



FAVOURING A BELIEF IN SPIRITS, 



y 



THEODORE CHARLES KORNER. 



The harp stands neglected : — she's gone, -whose light fingers 

Awoke from its strings the soul -melting strain ; 
Touch — touch its still cords, — in their echo e'en lingers 

A spell that can woo back her spirit again. 
Like the harp : sweetest spirit ! thou'st been my fond treasure, 

But like its wild notes, thou hast flitted awa3 r , 
Oh ! could my sad soul like the tones of that measure, 

As softly — as sweetly to heaven die away. 

Anon* 

The secretary and his young wife had not yet passed 
the spring days of their honey-moon — no selfish mo- 
tives, no transitory inclinations had united them ; a 
warm and long proved affection was the seal of their 
union. Early had they known each other, but Sell- 
ner's unprovided condition forced him to defer the ac- 
complishment of his wishes. At length he received 
his appointment, and on the following Sunday he con- 
ducted home his affectionate Josephina as his wi^e. 
After the long irksome days of congratulation and 
family feasting were over, the young couple could at 
last enjoy the peaceful evening undisturbed by the 



212 THE HARP. 

presence of any third person. Plans of future life, 
Sellner's flute, and Josephina's harp filled up the hours 
which to them seemed to flit but too quickly away, and 
they hailed the deep and perfect unison of their tones, 
as a friendly presage of future days of happiness. 
One evening they had been long amusing themselves 
with their music, when Josephina began to complain 
of head-ache. She had concealed from her anxious 
husband an attack which she had had in the morning, 
and what was at first a very trifling fever, had on ac- 
count of the weakness of her nerves been greatly in- 
creased by the excitement of the music, and the con- 
sequent straining of her feelings : — she concealed it no 
longer, and Sellner full of anxiety sent for a physician. 
He came, treated the matter as a trifle, and promised 
a complete recovery on the morrow. 

But after a very restless night, in which she raved 
continually, the physician found the poor Josephina la- 
bouring under all the symptoms of a nervous fever. 
He tried every mean, yet Josephina's disease grew 
daily worse. Sellner was in agony. On the ninth 
day, Josephina felt that her tender nerves could no 
longer endure the disease, — the physician too had pre- 
viously acquainted Sellner of it. She foresaw her 
last hour was at hand, and with quiet resignation she 
awaited her destiny. " My dearest Edward," said 
she, to her husband, while she pressed him for the last 
time to her bosom, " with deep sorrow I quit this world 
where I found thee, and the greatest earthly bliss upon 
thy bosom, yet, though I must no longer be happy in 
thy arms, yet Josephina's love shall hover around thee 
as a guardian spirit until we meet again in heaven !" 
As she said this, she fell back and softly sank to rest. 
It was about nine in the evening. What Sellner suf- 
fered was inexpressible ; he contended long with life-— 
sorrow had destroyed his health, and when after many 
week's confinement he again rose, he had no longer the 



THE HARP. £13 

vigour of youth in his limbs ; he gloomily brooded 
over his loss, and visibly pined away. Deep melan- 
choly had taken the place of despair, and a still sorrow 
hallowed every recollection of his beloved. He had 
left Josephina's room in the same situation in which it 
was before her death. Upon the table still lay the ma- 
terials of her work ; and the harp stood silent and un- 
moved in the corner. Every evening Sellner entered 
the sanctuary of his love, took his flute, and breathed 
in melancholy tones his longing after his dear loved 
Shade. Once he stood thus, lost in the dreams of fan- 
cy in Josephina's chamber. A clear moon-light night 
wooed him to the open window, and from the neigh- 
bouring Castle-tower the watchman called the ninth 
hour : when all of a sudden, the harp, as if moved by 
the soft breath of a spirit, sounded in unison with his 
tones. Deeply affected he laid down his flute, and the 
harp also ceased to sound. He now commenced with 
a trembling frame Josephina's favourite air, and loud- 
er and more powerful the harp sounded its notes, uni- 
ting its tones in the most perfect unison with his. He 
sank down in joyful ecstacy upon the ground, stretched 
forth his arms to embrace the beloved shadow, and in- 
stantly he felt himself as if breathed upon by the warm 
breath of spring, whilst a pale glimmering light floated 
around him. Deeply inspired he cried out, " I know 
thee hallowed shade of my sainted Josephina. Thou 
saidst thou wouldst surround me with thy love, thou 
hs^st kept thy word. I feel thy breath, I feel thy kisses 
on my lips, I feel myself embraced by thy glorified 
spirit." With deepest feelings of delight he again 
seized his flute, and again the harp sounded ; but al- 
ways softer and softer, till at length its whispering tones 
died away. Sellner' s whole frame was powerfully 
roused by the spiritual visitation of this evening,™ 
restless, he threw himself upon his bed, and the whis- 
pering of the harp ever recurred to him in his heated 



214 THE HARP. 

dreams. Late and exhausted with the phantoms of the 
night he awoke, felt his whole frame strongly affected, 
and a voice plainly spoke within him, expressing as he 
thought his immediate dissolution, and announcing the 
victory of the soul over the body. With restless desire 
he waited for the evening, and with eager hopes re- 
paired to the chamber of Josephina. Already had he 
succeeded in lulling himself with his flute into quiet 
dreams, when the ninth hour struck, and scarce had 
the last sound of the clock ceased to vibrate, when the 
harp began again softly to sound, till at last it thrilled 
in full harmonious chords. When his flute was silent, 
the magic also ceased. The pale glimmering light too 
floated over him, and in his ecstacy he could only 
cry, " Josephina, Josephina, take me to thy affection- 
ate bosom!" The tones of the harp at this moment 
parting with sighs, became softer and softer, until at 
length its whispers lost themselves in long tremulous 
chords. Still more powerfully agitated than ever by 
the occurrences of this evening, Sellner tottered back 
to his room. His faithful servant was terrified at his 
appearance, and went in spite of his master's prohibi- 
tion, in search of the physician who was also the old 
friend of Sellner. The physician found him under a 
very severe attack of fever, accompanied with the 
same kind of symptoms that had attended Josephina' s 
illness, but much worse in degree. The fever in- 
creased considerably throughout the night, during 
which he continually raved of Josephina and the harp. 
In the morning he became quieter, because the strug- 
gle was over, and he felt more and more plainly that 
his dissolution was at hand, though the physician would 
not allow it. The patient then related what had hap- 
pened to him upon the two evenings, and all the cold 
reasoning of his sceptical friend could not draw him 
from his opinion. As the evening approached, he be- 
came still weaker, and begged at last with a trembling 



THE HARP. 215 

voice, that he might be carried into Josephina's room. 
It was done. In deep distress he looked around, saluted 
each sweet recollection with a silent tear, and spoke with 
undoubting firmness of the ninth hour as the time of his 
death. The decisive moment approached, he ordered all 
to retire after he had taken farewell of them, except the 
physician who insisted at all events on remaining. At 
length the ninth hour sent down its hollow sound from 
the Castle-tower ; Sellner's countenance became illumi- 
nated, and a deep emotion once more glowed upon his 
pale features. " Josephina," cried he, as if actuated 
by divine inspiration. " Josephina, greet me yet once 
more on my departure, that I may know thou art near 
me, and may overcome death by the power of thy 
love." At this moment, the harp, as if by magic 
power began to pour forth its powerful chords, like 
songs of triumph, and then a glimmering light floated 
round the dying Sellner. " I come, I come," cried 
he, and sanR back, struggling with life. Softer and 
softer sounded the notes of the harp, while a last rem- 
nant of bodily strength once more raised Sellner up, 
and at the same moment the strings of the harp snapt 
asunder as if torn by the hand of a spirit. The phy- 
sician trembled in every limb, pressed to his heart the 
departed Sellner, who now in spite of the last struggle, 
lay with closed eyes as if in a soft slumber, and in deep 
agitation left the house. Many a year elapsed ere he 
could eradicate the remembrance of that hour from his 
heart, and he allowed a profound silence to rest over 
the last moments of his friend, till at length in a mo- 
ment of confidence he communicated the occurrences 
of that evening to some friends, at the same time 
-howed them the harp which he had kept as a remem- 
brance of the departed. 

THE END. 



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